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THE^STORYOF 

DAVID CROCKETT 



FAMOUS AMERICANS 
FOR YOUNG READERS 

Titles Ready 

GEORGE WASHINGTON By Joseph Walker 

JOHN PAUL JONES By C. C. Eraser 

THOMAS JEFFERSON By Gene Stone 

ABRAHAM LINCOLN By J. Walker McSpadden 

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN By Clare Tree Major 

DAVID CROCKETT By Jane Corby 

ROBERT FULTON By L N. McFee 

THOMAS A. EDISON By L N. McFee 

HARRIET B. STOWE By R. B. MacArthur 

MARY LYON By H. O. Stengel 

Other Titles in Preparation 



\^lf. if. if If. if^J 
FAMOUS AME^ANS 

"t THE>STOEY-OF * 

* DAVID CROCKETT * 

* BY * 

* JANE COBBY * 

* .-^ ' ^ — ^ * 



V 






BAESB <a, HOPKINS 

NY- , N-J- 



.• 



/• • • • •X 



Copyright, 1922 
BY BARSE & HOPKINS 



PRIKTED IN- THE IT. S. A. 

AUG -2 '22 

©CI.A677738 



PREFACE 

"Be sure you are right, then go ahead," was 
Davy Crockett's famous motto. Davy himself 
lived up to it to the best of his ability, although 
in those rough-and-ready pioneer days it was 
not always easy to discover what was "right." 
Crockett was born in East Tennessee, over a 
century ago, when the country was little more 
than a wilderness. His father was a tavern 
keeper, and the boy early came in contact with 
the roving characters who passed by. He was 
bound out to a cattle drover headed for Vir- 
ginia, and as a boy of twelve made his way back 
home across hundreds of miles of wild country. 
He grew up as a crack shot and a fearless 
hunter, either of wild game or of Indians. He 
was elected to Congress, where he made a 
picturesque figure, but soon returned to the 
frontier, his natural habitat. Then he went 
down to Texas to help that State achieve its 
independence. The whole world is familiar 
with the story of the Alamo — ^how a handful of 
men braved the Mexican Army until the last 
defender was slain. One of the very last to 
fall was Davy Crockett — facing the enemy to 
the last. 



PREFACE 

No hero in fiction ever led a more colorful 
life — as the present writer shows. The story 
is replete with adventure from first to last, but 
is founded closely on fact. 



CONTENTS 



Wan- 



OHAPTEB 

I. The Tavern Keeper's Son 

II. Davy Sees a New World . 

III. The Way Home . . . 

IV. Davy Takes to Flight 

V. An Account of Two Years* 
BERING 

VI. Davy Takes a Partner 

VII. Davy Gets His Dander Up 

VIII. A Redskin Behind Every Tree . 

IX. Wresting a Home From the Wilder- 
ness . ,. 

X. Davy Prepares for Christmas 

XI. Battling with the Mississippi 

XII. Off for Texas 

XIII. Adventure Aplenty 

XIV, The Conquest of the Alamo 



PAGE 

9 
17 
29 
38 

46 
55 
69 
76 

92 
106 
120 
134 
146 
165 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

David Crockett . . . . . . Frontispiece 

From a rare portrait 

FACING PAGE 

Andrew Jackson . 88 

From a painting from life, hy Jarvis 

The Alamo, San Antonio, Texas .... 146 
Scene of the famous defense against the 
Mexican army 

James Bowie . , . 166 

Famous pioneer -fighter; one of the 
defenders of the Alamo 



THE STORY OF DAVID 
CROCKETT 



THE TAVERN KEEPER^S SON 

"Hi, there, you old varmint! Step up 
there — ^get him, Shep, get him!" 

Bellowing commands alternately to the 
stragghng members of his half -wild herd of 
cattle and the two shaggy dogs that yelped 
and darted in and out among the slow-moving 
hoofs, an elderly Dutchman tramped along a 
lonely forest road in the Tennessee Mountains, 
his own outcries, the hoof beats of the cattle and 
the barking of the dogs breaking into the dense 
stillness of the late autumn twilight. 

Pausing a moment to wipe his brow after 
topping a steep rise in the road, the drover's 
eye was caught by the figure of a young lad, 
twelve years old or thereabouts, perched in the 
fork of a nearby tree. The old birds' nest 

9 



10 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

which he had been investigating swung idly 
in the chilly wind, while he gave the full atten- 
tion of eyes and ears to the thundering herd. 

*'Hi, son! Give a hand here, will you?" 
called the old man. Without a word, and with 
the agility of a panther, the boy leaped to the 
ground and, seizing a stout stick, wielded it to 
such effect that he soon had the herd going 
at a lively trot. 

"John Crockett's place around here?" in- 
quired the drover, breathing heavily in the 
effort to keep up with the light-footed lad. 

"Yonder," answered the boy, pointing in a 
direction at right angles to the road they were 
traveling. A faint drift of blue smoke was 
just visible above the close trees. 

"You his boy?" continued the Dutchman, 
eyeing with approval the wiry little figure 
stepping briskly along the rough road. The 
boy nodded. 

"Fifth," he said shortly. 

"Can you tell me the year you were born?" 
went on the drover, jovially. 

"In 1786," returned the boy, "on August 
17th." 

"And what do they call you?" pursued the 



DAVID CROCKETT 11 

old man, with an interest that betokened more 
than a desire to make conversation, 

"Davy," answered the youngster, with no 
undue civiUty. 

Observing that he resented his questioning, 
the Dutchman, who was not overfond of talk 
himself, lapsed into silence, except for an 
occasional: "Hi — hi, there." The minutes 
slipped by as the road uncurled itself under the 
hurrying feet of the odd cavalcade. 

"We're 'most there," remarked the boy 
suddenly, as an abrupt turn in the road ap- 
peared. In a moment the stragglers of the 
herd had rounded the curve, with a smart re- 
minder or two from Davy's stick, and a rough 
cabin could be seen just ahead through the 
deepening gloom. It was larger than log 
cabins were commonly built, but a rude-look- 
ing place nevertheless, with lofty pines shadow- 
ing the front door and crowding upon it from 
the rear, except for a distance of a stone's 
throw that had been cleared for a bit of plant- 
ing. Xearby stood a long shed, open on one 
side, and apparently designed for the shelter 
of horses or cattle, for a couple of teamsters 
were to be made out moving among the 



12 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

shadows, caring for their horses and arrang- 
ing the wagons. 

At the sound of tramphng hoofs, a brawny 
figure appeared at the cabin door, outhned 
against the light from a roaring fire which 
could be seen beyond the doorway. 

"Howdy, stranger," boomed the man, as 
the drover approached. 

"Welcome to Crockett's Tavern. Rough 
and ready, that we are, stranger, and our 
vittles are plain — ^but hearty. Eh — ^Davy, 
lad," catching sight of his son, "it's a stout 
stick I have for you if you don't turn your 
hand before supper. Help the men there to 
put up their horses — drive in the cattle for the 
gentleman — spht up a log or two — sure, the 
fire's goin' out this minute," and as small 
Davy turned obediently to carry out these 
numerous commands, the tavern keeper added 
to his newly-arrived guest: "Make the fur 
fly — that's the way to handle the young lads, 
eh?" 

"Keep them on the jump," agreed the 
drover, making a movement toward following 
Davy, who was driving the cattle toward the 
shed. 



DAVID CROCKETT 13 

"Leave him be, leave him be," cried the 
father, "he'll be tendin' them right enough. 
Inside with you, Mr. " 

"Siler," supplied the Dutchman, "Jacob 
Siler, bound for Rockbridge, in the State of 
Virginia." He entered the cabin as he spoke 
and made straight for the fire, where he threw 
himself down on a pile of bearskins. With his 
wet and muddy boots stretched out to the 
blaze, and heaving a sigh of deep contentment, 
he drew a long, curved pipe from beneath his 
homespun jacket, together with a pouch of 
deerskin. His pipe filled, the weary traveler 
leaned against the log wall, and gazed about 
the room, through half-shut eyes, while he 
puffed with evident enjoyment the tobacco 
smoke forming thick rings about his head. 

The room about which his gaze wandered 
was rough and bare, but in contrast with the 
fast gathering darkness and chill wind outside 
it seemed a very haven of comfort to the tired 
drover. The blazing pitch-pine on the rude 
hearth (showing, contrary to the tavern 
keeper's assertion, no immediate sign of being 
burned out) sent clouds of aromatic smoke 
eddying up to the chimney hole. A huge pot- 



14 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

fill of boiling meat swung from the blackened 
crane and mingled its savory odor with the 
smell of potatoes, bursting their jackets in the 
bubbling water of the pot alongside it. At 
the far end of the room a young girl was busily 
engaged about a long table — a rough slab rest- 
ing on log supports that were deeply embedded 
in the hard-trodden earth that formed the 
floor. 

Not many minutes had passed before a loud 
jangling resounded just outside the door, ap- 
parently the summons to the evening meal, for 
all hands at once trooped in. Without turn- 
ing their eyes to the figure beside the fire, they 
lost no time in bestowing themselves on the 
benches around the table. Nor did the old 
drover himself wait for further summons. 
Knocking the ashes from his pipe and laying 
it carefully on a ledge formed by the inter- 
section of two logs, he stamped heavily across 
the room and took a place at the table. 

"Howdy," said the man nearest him. 
**Howdy," replied the Dutchman, and seizing 
the horn-handled knife and fork before him, 
he prepared to make an onslaught on the heap- 
ing wooden platterful of meat that was making 



DAVID CROCKETT 15 

the rounds. Not a word was spoken through- 
out the meal, except for an occasional demand 
on the tavern keeper's wife, who was busy- 
supplying the guests, for "another load of 
journey cake," or more " 'taters." The "jour- 
ney cake," as the corn-bread was called, dis- 
appeared as fast as the loaves were brought 
in from the little lean-to beyond the main room, 
and the men pounced upon the steaming pota- 
toes and chunks of meat as if they were starv- 
ing, and indeed their long day of hard going 
along the rough road had reduced them to a 
state very like famishing. 

Little Davy at one end, between a sister and 
a brother, tackled the food as it went the 
rounds with unabated vigor, until a dig from 
his sister's elbow warned him that his share of 
the evening meal had been exhausted. Rough 
mountaineers and roving wagoners made ter- 
rific inroads on the food that John Crockett 
was able to supply for his table, and the charges 
varying from fifteen cents to "two bits" 
scarcely covered the cost of preparation. 
Only too well the tavern keeper's family real- 
ized the difficulty of feeding many mouths. 

With a sigh Davy relinquished his seat at 



16 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

the table and withdrew to a corner by the fire, 
where he busied himself with piling on fresh 
logs and raking the embers till they stirred 
into leaping flames. Though he did not dream 
of such a thing, Davy had eaten his last even- 
ing meal beneath his father's roof for many 
weary weeks to come. 



II 

DAVY SEES A NEW WORLD 

The morning brought a threat of rain, that 
overhung the woods with somber menace. 

"Up, Davy lad, stir yourself!" cried the 
tavern keeper, prodding the sleeping boy with 
his foot none too gently. Davy was awake 
instantly, as much because that is the way a 
wilderness boy wakes all at once, as because 
his father's boot was brought into action. In 
the shed outside, the teamsters were already 
busy with their horses, and Davy lent a will- 
ing enough hand. As he buckled on the har- 
ness, he caught sight of his father in earnest 
talk with the drover of the night before, and 
scraps of the conversation came to his ears. 

"There's a likely boy," the Dutchman Siler 
was saying. "I need a lively young fellow like 
that to keep that there wild herd of mine on 
the road." 

"Where you aimin' to go?" inquired Davy's 
father. 

"Rockbridge, Virginia," answered the 

17/ 



18 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

drover. "I'm makin' a move from Knox 
County." 

"Let's see," observed the tavern keeper, 
"that there Rockbridge is somewhere around 
the Natural Bridge, ain't it?" 

"About three mile one side of it," replied 
Siler. "Four hundred mile, all told, from 
here." 

"The lad's never been away from home," 
Davy's father remarked. "He don't know 
much about travelin' — on foot too." 

Davy's heart gave a sudden sink, and a lump 
came into his throat. So they were planning 
to send him away! 

But with the bowl of cornmeal mush and 
milk that constituted his breakfast, Davy's 
gloomy foreboding began to lighten. After 
all, he loved the forest, and he had never asked 
an>i;hing better than to roam all day, track- 
ing the gray squirrel or the red fox. Nor had 
he failed to note the fine rifle that the drover 
had carried with him the night before. He 
knew he could not carry the rifle himself, for 
it was too heavy, but he knew how to shoot, 
and perhaps the old Dutchman would let him 
take a shot at a deer or a bear, if they met 



DAVID CROCKETT 19 

one. Davy had never shot anything bigger 
than a squirrel as yet, and that not more than 
a half dozen times, for it was no easy task for 
a small boy to handle a hunter's rifle, made 
from an iron bar weighing somewhere around 
fifteen pounds. The more he thought about 
it, the more convinced Davy became that he 
would get a chance to shoot big game on this 
very trip, and his spirits rose accordingly. By 
the time he was standing before the tavern 
door, waving a last good-bye to his mother 
and his sisters and brothers, his heart was 
swelling with self-importance and confidence. 
A great world was about to open before him, 
the world of adventure and travel, and he 
swung off down the road behind the stragghng 
cattle with his head held high, and his moc- 
casined feet striding forward with the easy, 
rapid gait of the woodsman. 

The drover left the boy strictly alone; he 
was not talkative and the pace which Davy 
set was not conducive to the art of conversa- 
tion. Old Siler kept it up for a few miles, 
then he called a halt. 

"Now there, young fellow," he panted at 
last, "just take it a bit easier, can't you? Lots 



20 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

of fine scenery around here. I kind of hate 
to miss it by going too fast." 

After that the little procession moved more 
slowly, the cattle going at a steady trot, and 
kept up to th6 mark by Davy's liberal use of a 
stick. By and by his movements became en- 
tirely mechanical, he put several yards between 
himself and the drover, and gave himself over 
to enjoying the charm of the wilderness. He 
felt quite like an explorer. 

"Hi, lad," called the drover, some time later, 
"I reckon we could do with a bite of food. 
Keep a lookout for a spring or a clear brook 
and we'll rest a bit." 

It was not long before Davy's sharp hearing 
caught the tinkle of a stream, and he called 
the attention of the drover to it; whereupon 
the two made their way among the trees and 
underbrush and found a little rippling brook 
where they could drink long refreshing 
draughts. They sat down upon the bank of 
the stream, and the Dutchman took pieces of 
dried venison from his deerskin pouch, divid- 
ing it with Davy. It was not very appetizing 
food, but there was little time to be wasted in 
hunting for fresh game, preparing it and cook- 



DAVID CROCKETT 21 

ing it over a fire, so they had to make the best 
of what they had. As soon as the two travelers 
had taken the edge from their hunger, they 
set themselves to rounding up the cattle again, 
and resumed their steady march along the 
rough highway. Now a little drizzling rain 
began to fall, and as the afternoon wore on 
the wind rose, playing a melancholy air among 
the bare, shifting branches. 

When they reached a small open space 
among the trees, the drover halted the proces- 
sion. "I reckon we've found our night's lodg- 
ing, Davy," he remarked. "I see a pile of 
rocks yonder that ought to give us a sort of 
shelter for the night." 

They drove the cattle into the little natural 
yard formed by the ring of trees, and left them 
to their own devices. They could pick up 
enough sustenance from the half -dead grass, 
the drover knew, to keep up their endurance, 
and instinct would warn them to huddle to- 
gether when darkness fell. The old man then 
sought shelter for the boy and himself, but 
the rocky hillside which formed one side of 
the open space was singularly barren of any 
overhanging ledge. 



22 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

"111 get some brush and we'll have a fire," 
Davy said, confidently. But he was doomed 
to disappointment. The rain had been falling 
for several hours, and the leafless trees had 
been no protection to the ground-covering of 
brush and dead wood. 

The dried venison served again for a 
meal, which was shared by the dogs, and then, 
weary beyond regard for the wet, Davy and 
his employer cast themselves upon the ground. 
Only the dogs, nesthng close, provided them 
with a little warmth. Davy's cheek was 
pressed against a rough, shaggy coat ; he could 
feel the dog breathing and it gave him a sense 
of security and comfort. He lay listening to 
the night sounds for a few minutes; then his 
walk of twenty miles took its toll, and he 
dropped fast asleep. 

Day broke brilliantly, as it is apt to do when 
there is frost upon the air. At the first sign 
of dawn, the drover was up, and while he fum- 
bled for the dried venison in his pouch he 
roused Davy, who was very weary still. A 
drink of cool water from a nearby spring, 
and several pieces of the dried meat, how- 
ever, put him in fine fettle. He was one day 



DAVID CROCKETT 23 

nearer his journey's end, he reflected, and it 
was not raining. 

Except for this fact, the day was very like 
the one preceding. Tramp, tramp, over end- 
less hillocks and broken boughs in the road, 
through low marshland where the cattle tram- 
pled the mire until it was knee-deep by the 
time Davy and the drover had to cross, the 
little procession wound its way. ISTo wayfarers 
were passed along the road; only the red fox 
and the soft-eyed deer watched them go, star- 
tled in their hiding-places by the occasional 
bellow of one of the cattle, by the dogs' bark- 
ing, or the shouts of old Siler and Davy, when 
one of the animals became contrary. 

Toward night, the drover paused and went 
forward into a thicket that fringed the road 
at that point. 

"Here, lad," he called to Davy, " 'pears like 
that's an abandoned cabin, don't it? Reckon 
we'll camp here for the night, boy. T 'ain't 
often we'll find a spot just like this, and last 
night wa'n't none too comfortable." 

Together they urged the cattle over the tan- 
gled underbrush, and turned them loose in 
what had been the dooryard of the cabin. 



24 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

Then they started to inspect their own domain. 
That took very httle time, for the cabin con- 
sisted of one small room, without furniture of 
any kind. There was, however, a fireplace at 
one end, and Davy's eyes twinkled in anticipa- 
tion of the cozy warmth they would soon enjoy. 

"A bite of fresh game would taste good to- 
night, wouldn't it?" observed the drover, look- 
ing at the empty hearth. "You just scuttle 
around a bit, Davy, and get the fire going, and 
I'll see what the woods can offer us in the way 
of supper." 

Rifle in hand Siler departed, and Davy left 
alone went out for dry leaves and the other 
needfuls for a fire. Soon the drover came 
back bearing a wild turkey gobbler, and Davy 
eagerly searched for a forked stick, begging 
for the boon of being allowed to hold it over 
the fire. 

It was a fine fat gobbler, and as it spluttered 
over the flames it gave out an aroma that nearly 
caused hungry Davy to seize it as it was, half 
cooked, and sink his teeth into its appetizing 
frame. It was not the first time that he had 
cooked his own food out in the woods. 

"Looks like that gobbler's done to a turn," 



DAVID CROCKETT 25 

remarked the Dutchman, after what seemed 
an interminable time, and Davy drew it back, 
laying it upon a bed of fresh leaves which he 
had prepared nearby. With his long hunting 
knife, the drover proceeded to cut the bird into 
edible proportions, and Davy's teeth sank into 
the tender, juicy flesh with rapturous joy, the 
instant he had a piece in his hand. For sev- 
eral minutes there was silence in the cabin, 
while the two travelers gave themselves up to 
the full enjoyment of fine food after a ten- 
mile tramp in the frosty air. 

After that the days and the nights went by 
in much the same fashion. The drover's party 
managed to make fifteen or twenty miles a day, 
for the most part — days that were varied 
chiefly by the amount of food obtainable and 
by the state of the weather. Frequently there 
were streams to be forded, often the wind was 
sharp ; there were many dreary rains and the 
wilderness road was rough and often muddy. 
It was with relief, therefore, that Davy and 
old Siler drew up at last at a lonely cabin, 
after twenty-five days of trudging and strug- 
gle. They were made welcome by a man 
named Hartley, who was Siler's father-in-law. 



26 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

and T)sivy was at first disposed to forget the 
future in the joy of being certain of food and 
rest. 

"You're a good lad, Davy," Mr. Siler told 
him one day soon after they arrived. "I 
reckon I've treated you kind of square, haven't 
I, boy?" 

Davy nodded an affirmative. The Dutch- 
man had been kind to him from the very be- 
ginning, and he was not ungrateful. 

"Well then," the old man pursued, "I reckon 
you've found as good a place as any between 
here and Knoxville. I suppose you'll be glad 
to be staying, now that you're here, and your 
father's expecting it, as you know. Here's 
something for your trouble." 

Davy took the five dollars that the drover 
held out to him, but his heart was troubled. 
He had expected to go home again as soon as 
they reached Virginia, and now he was being 
asked to stay where he was. Moreover, his 
father seemed to have intended it, and Davy 
had been taught obedience, frequently by the 
aid of a hickory stick. He said nothing, there- 
fore, about going home, but remained at the 
Hartley cabin, helping with the cattle and do- 



DAVID CROCKETT 27 

ing odd chores, of which there were plenty. 
But he did not grow accustomed to his absence 
from home; he missed the companionship of 
his brothers, and the rough-and-tumble life of 
the tavern. Five weeks passed in this way, 
and then suddenly luck came rumbling up the 
road, in the shape of three wagons loaded with 
merchandise, and driven by a man named 
Dunn and his two sons. David recognized 
Dunn, he had traveled past his father's tavern 
before this, and often stopped there for the 
night. Slipping away from the two boys with 
whom he had been playing along the road, 
he followed the wagons until a bend in the 
road hid them from the Hartley cabin. Then 
he hailed the elder Dunn. 

"Goin' my way?" he called airily, appearing 
suddenly almost under the horses' feet. Dunn 
reined in sharply. 

"Whoa there!" to the not-unwilling horses. 
Then, after a moment's scrutiny of the small 
boy in the road : 

"Davy Crockett — or I'm a liar!" he cried, 
good-naturedly. "How'd you come here, 
Davy? Folks moved?" 

"No," exclaimed the boy. "I was a-helpin' 



28 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

of a drover with his cattle. He lives back 
there," pointing to the bend in the road. "I 
wish I could go back home, though." 

"What's the matter — don't he treat you 
right?" asked the kind-hearted Mr. Dunn. 

Davy hastened to reassure him on the point. 
"Oh, he's kind," he said, "but I've been won- 
dering what they're doin' up home." 

"WeU, I'm bound for Knoxville," Mr. Dunn 
remarked. "We're spending the night about 
seven miles along the road here. Now, in case 
there was a young lad as wanted to be reach- 
ing Crockett's Tavern, it would be a mighty 
good thing for him if he caught up with 
us before daylight to-morrow, because he could 
follow along with these here wagons." 



Ill 

THE WAY HOME 

It was Sunday evening, and Davy found the 
whole family out when he returned to the 
Hartley cabin. He was glad of that, for his 
heart beat so high that he was sure anyone 
observing him must suspect something. 

"I'll get to bed," he decided at once, "and 
maybe get my sleepin' done before it's time 
to start." But for a long time his busy mind 
forbade sleep. 

Then he heard the family returning, and 
he lay, pretending sleep, long after they had 
retired for the night. He hstened sharply for 
the heavy breathing that would tell him when 
the others were wrapped in slumber. 

At last it reached his ears — ^the rhythmic 
rise and fall of breath that betokened profound 
sleep. Davy's hour had come ! Cautious as a 
cat, he crept across the loft, on all fours. 
Stealthily he began to descend the ladder, his 
feet, in their soft moccasins, as soundless as 
his bare hands. 



30 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

With nerveless fingers Davy undid the bar 
that held the door, opened it a mere crack and 
squeezed his slender body through, backward, 
with his gaze intent on the interior of the cabin. 
In a moment more he had drawn the door shut, 
and his breath came with sharp relief as he 
faced about — ^to confront a world white with 
snow. The air was filled with the whirling 
flakes, borne on a wintry gale, and already the 
trees and bushes were weighted with their load 
of clinging snow. Davy's feet were buried 
above the ankle, but it never occurred to him 
to turn back; he covered his hands as well as 
he could with the folds of his leathern shirt, 
and bending his head, stepped out bravely in 
the direction of the big road. It was a half 
mile from the cabin to the highway, and in the 
darkness of the storm there was not a track 
of any kind visible. 

"Now to find the road," he thought confi- 
dently. That was no easy matter, even for a 
boy who had been reared in a practically track- 
less wilderness. The heavy snowfall had ob- 
scured every familiar landmark, but, as he 
noted with satisfaction : 

"This here snow is sure fiUin' up my foot- 



DAVID CROCKETT 31 

prints fast. Won't the folks be surprised 
when they wake up in the mornin' and find me 
gone, without ever a mark to show which way; 
I went?" 

It did not take sharp-sighted Davy very 
long to discover where the main highway 
wound its tortuous way among the trees, for 
the opening it made between the mighty trunks 
told the forest boy where it lay. He turned 
in the direction the wagons had taken a few 
hours before and pushed on through the deep- 
ening snow. 

The howl of a distant wolf sounded through 
the forest, but it was far away, Davy knew. 
He shook his fist in the direction of the sound, 
and wished aloud for the Dutchman's rifle. 
But after a while the cold began to creep up 
from his toes, along his sturdy legs, up, up, 
numbing his senses and dulhng his brain. He 
no longer thought of the cabin he had left, nor 
his home, still hundreds of miles away, across 
the dreadful wilderness; all his strength was 
gathered into one burning determination — to 
keep at bay the creeping cold until he should 
reach the camp of the Dunns. His eyes glazed 
under the strain of keeping the road clearly 



32 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

before him; he stumbled and fell more than 
once, but his determination never wavered. 
On he trudged — on — on 

"Well, young feller," boomed the hearty 
voice of old Dunn, as Davy rounded a turn 
in the road and almost stumbled over the 
wagoner, who was feeding his horses close to 
the door of a wayside cabin. Davy's answer 
was a groan as he toppled forward in the snow. 
The old man picked him out of the drift, 
where he lay almost buried, for the damp 
whiteness was knee-deep by now. Within the 
cabin there was a fire and warm food, presided 
over by a motherly woman who had taken care 
of the Dunns for the night. 

"Oh, the poor lamb!" she cried at the sight 
of little Davy's limp form. "Here, Jack," 
to one of her own children, "heat some milk 
while I rub his poor hands and feet." 

The heat and the kindly ministrations of the 
household soon had their effect. 

"Let me go!" cried Davy, suddenly sitting 
up. "Oh, has Mr. Dunn gone?" wildly strug- 
gling to free himself from the buffalo robe 
with which he had been covered. 

"The Dunns are outside, getting the teams 



DAVID CROCKETT i SS 

ready," answered the woman. "Here now, 
take it easy. Rest a bit while you can and 
drink this good hot milk." 

"Well, lad, are you most ready?" in- 
quired the old man, appearing in the cabin 
door as Davy was swallowing the last of the 
food with which he ha4 been supplied. With- 
out a word, the boy thrust aside the wooden 
platter which had served as his plate, and 
stuffing a last chunk of corn-bread into his 
mouth, he pulled on his beaver-skin cap. 

For a hundred miles Davy moved on with 
the wagons, sometimes beneath sunny skies 
that made the world glaringly white, some- 
times through sleet and driving storms that 
numbed the hardened wagoners no less than 
the small boy. But progress was slow. 

"I could go twice as fast — if I didn't have 
to wait for the wagons," Davy put in one day, 
as a feeler, to Mr. Dunn. 

"Is it daft ye've gone, Davy?" inquired the 
old man solicitously. 

"I'm wastin' a good deal of time, Mr. 
Dunn," answered the boy, "and it ain't like 



34 FAMOUS AMERICAiyS 

I was any use to you. I'm sure obliged for 
all you've done for me, but I would like to be 
gettin' home." 

"And now, what would your father be 
thinkin' of me, if I let you go traipsin' off 
through the wilderness alone?" demanded his 
benefactor. "Me, that's been tryin' to bring 
you home safe, as a favor to a good friend?" 

But Davy was not to be dissuaded. He 
was "sure anxious to get home again," he re- 
peated to all the Dunns' arguments, and at 
last, seeing that there was no holding the boy, 
and realizing that he would go without per- 
mission if he could not go with it, they agreed 
to let him start off on the following morn- 
ing. Davy was jubilant; he reiterated all 
through the rest of the day his thanks for the 
kindness he had received at the hands of the 
Dunns. Next morning his determination was 
unshaken, and taking the deerskin pouch filled 
with dried venison which his friends offered 
him, he set out on his solitary journey. 

It was true that he could move twice as fast 
when he did not have to wait for the wagons; 
before he had been walking very long he found 
that they had been blotted, completely, from 



DAVID CROCKETT 35 

the landscape. The world seemed suddenly 
empty. 

"Now, look a-here, Davy Crockett," he has- 
tily adjured himself, "you've got to jSght your 
way home; you just keep a stiff upper lip and 
go like a good feller." 

Go he did, after that, and his courage held 
out for several hours. But the cold and the 
prolonged exertion began to have its effect, 
late in the afternoon, and, at the sound of a 
rushing river, Davy's heart sank. 

" 'Pears like I'll have to fight that old wild- 
cat of a river," he thought, and shivered in 
anticipation. But before many minutes had 
passed, a horse and rider came into view, lead- 
ing another horse, riderless but saddled and 
bridled. 

"Howdy, straggler," called the horseman 
cheerily. 

"The best o' luck to you," cried Davy, his 
eyes on the extra horse. 

"Where's the rest of yo're party?" inquired 
the man, curiously, for small boys of twelve 
roaming the winter forest were an uncommon 
sight. 

"I'm just Davy Crockett; I'm goin' home," 



36 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

explained the boy, adding that his father kept 
a tavern between Jonesboro and Knoxville. 

"'Way from out that-a-way!" exclaimed 
the stranger. "Wall, I'll be shot! I'm a-goin' 
yo're road, sonny," he said kindly, "and if yuh 
eared now, to avail yo'self of that 'ar horse, 
yo're quite welcome." 

Davy needed no second hint. He mounted 
the extra horse, his head held high, and proudly 
seized the reins. After that the journey was 
pleasantly smooth and uneventful, the horses 
moving along steadily at a rapid walk. Davy 
learned that his benefactor had been down to 
Virginia to see some stock. He was very will- 
ing to have a traveling companion on the way 
back, and as he spun yarns about his adven- 
tures the time passed swiftly. Several days 
had slipped by when he finally announced that 
their roads were about to part. 

"But," he added, "I reckon you can find 
yo're way hereabouts purty well. Yo're old 
man's place is only about fifteen mile yonder." 

At the crossroads Da\y thanked his com- 
panion, slipped to the ground, and patted his 
horse's nose. Then he turned up his own road, 
and without a backward glance ran like a 



DAVID CROCKETT 37 

young deer. He reached his father's cabin 
that night. 

"Well, Davy, you back?" was John Crock- 
ett's greeting. "Shake a leg there and bring 
in some wood." 



IV 

DAVY TAKES TO FLIGHT 

With the beginning of the next brief school 
term, Davy and his brothers were on hand. 

The schoolhouse, which they entered, puffing 
lustily, a moment later, was a rude cabin with 
a big fireplace. The floor was the solid earth, 
the benches were rough slabs of wood with 
wooden stakes for legs. A huge table formed 
by a great slab three feet wide and resting on 
hickory pegs stretched across the room, and 
afforded space for the scholars to try their hand 
at writing, when it chanced that the pens of 
goose quills cut into shape by the master, a 
sufficient quantity of poor ink, and some paper 
were all available at the same time. 

With much shuffling and gigghng the boys 
scuttled into place. 

"Jim Aiken," began the schoolmaster, call- 
ing the roll. As his name was called, each boy 
responded by rising. Davy Crockett's name 
was very near the head of the list; Davy was 

38 



DAVID CROCKETT 39 

always quick to respond. This morning, how- 
ever, as he started to rise swiftly to his feet, 
one of his ankles was caught dexterously by a 
lean bare foot thrust out from behind. He 
was thrown completely off his balance, and 
swung ignominiously forward into a row of 
smaller boys, who promptly protested by vig- 
orous struggles and loud cries. 

"Silence!" roared Kitchen, laying his stick 
to right and left without discrimination. When 
order had been thus restored, Davy was com- 
manded to step forward. 

Blue eyes resentful, Davy approached as 
bidden. 

"I'll teach you to be playing your tricks on 
me," said the master, in a cold fury, and with- 
out delay he proceeded to "teach" Davy, by 
means of the birch rod applied vigorously to 
his quivering shoulders. The class was de- 
lighted. Any suffering which did not directly 
concern these forest lads w^as to be taken in 
the nature of a show, and they enjoyed the 
present performance immensely, especially 
when Davy was finally thrown into a corner, to 
stand there the rest of the morning with his 
face to the wall. From the tail of his eye the 



40 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

angry lad observed the malicious grin on the 
face of his enemy. Job Higgins. His was the 
treacherous foot that had sent Davy sprawl- 
ing across the benches, and Davy's heart 
smoldered within him as he stood in his igno- 
ble position throughout the long morning. 

All day Davy nursed his wrath, and when 
school was dismissed he was first out of the 
door, and off down the road like a streak. He 
was too wary to attempt revenge within sight 
of the schoolhouse, and he was well out of 
earshot of the master before he ambushed him- 
self in a thicket. 

*'The old turkey-cock will be goin' by in a 
minute," he exulted. 

Sure enough, it was but a few minutes be- 
fore he caught sight of Job Higgins, strutting 
along the road, brimful of joy on account of 
the trouble he had given to Davy Crockett. 
Several smaller boys accompanied him, and he 
was boasting loudly of what he was going to do 
to "that little weasel, Crockett," on the mor- 
row. Unsuspecting, he came on, till he was 
opposite Davy's hiding place, when, with a 
howl that struck terror to the heart of his 
enemy, Davy leaped from the thicket like a 



DAVID CROCKETT 41 

catamount, landing square on the big boy's 
shoulders. Teeth, nails, agile heels and sturdy- 
fists dug relentlessly into his opponent, while 
Davy proceeded to take all desire for "strut- 
tin' " out of him. The small boys looked on, 
applauding Davy's efforts. 

"Go it, Davy!" they shrieked delightedly. 
"Smash his nose!" 

"Lemme go!" cried the bully as Davy 
promptly acted upon the advice of his audi- 
ence. "Aw — lemme up," for Davy now had 
his victim prostrate on the ground, and was 
pummeling his head with all the strength of his 
furious young fists. 

"Had 'nuff?" gasped the victor, between 
blows. 

" 'Nuff," whined the big boy, and Davy, 
panting from his exertions, but full of the glory 
of victory, rose to his feet and stood breathing 
hard, while the vanquished slunk off down the 
road. His brothers had been interested spec- 
tators of the end of the fight, and now they 
proceeded to give vocal proof of their admira- 
tion of Davy's fighting qualities. 

"He won't be seein' any thin' but stars for 
a week," chuckled one. 



42 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

"You shore took a piece out of his ear, 
Davy," said another. All the way home the 
boys talked about the great fight, and the glory 
that would ever after be Davy's. But before 
they reached the lonely tavern by the roadside 
a disquieting thought had arisen. 

"Bobcats and alligators, Davy!" exclaimed 
the oldest boy suddenly, as they rounded the 
last turn in the road. "What '11 old Kitchen 
do to you when he hears of it?" 

Davy made up his mind quickly. "I won't 
go back to school," he declared stoutly. 

"The old man'll take the hide off o' you," 
replied his brother. Davy realized that only 
too well. "I'll go out with you, and come back 
at night, and stay in the woods all day," he 
announced. The others were doubtful of the 
result of this conduct, but Davy would listen 
to no doubts. 

For several days all went well. Davy left 
the tavern each morning with his brothers, and 
returned with them each night, but he spent 
the interval in the depths of the woods, stalk- 
ing game. 

Then one day came the explosion. John 
Crockett received a note, brought by one of the 



DAVID CROCKETT 43 

pupils from the schoolmaster, in which he in- 
quired why Davy had not been sent to school. 

"Here, y' young toad!" called the elder 
Crockett, "what's this about not bein' in 
school? What about the fine 'coon skins I'm 
after payin' the master to learn yuh readin' n' 
writin'?" 

Davy was silent, measuring the distance to 
the cabin door with his eye. His father caught 
the glance, and seized him roughly by the 
shoulder. 

"Answer me!" he roared. 

"I'm afraid to go to school," said Davy, be- 
ginning to tremble with apprehension. "I 
licked a boy, and the schoolmaster will be cook- 
in' me up to a crackhn' in no time." 

"I'll give yuh an eternal sight worse trounc- 
in' if yuh don't start for school this minute," 
cried the father, red in the face and breathing 
furiously. 

"I can't go!" wailed Davy. "Don't send 
me back — aw, don't send me. I'll work, I'll — 
oh," he begged, as John Crockett stepped out- 
side the door, and began cutting a stout hick- 
ory switch, "oh, don't send me, I'll do any- 
thin' you want, oh — oh I" 



U FAMOUS AMERICANS 

With a last despairing shriek Davy fled 
through the door, for his father was coming 
toward him, stick in hand. Turning swiftly 
into the road in a direction away from the 
schoolhouse, Davy fled nimbly down the 
rough highway, closely pursued by his angry 
father. Davy was a good runner, but old 
Crockett had great strength and endurance, 
and his feet were winged by his towering pas- 
sion. The race continued for nearly a mile, 
when the road led up a steep hill. Davy, flying 
ahead, gained the top and shot down the other 
side. Before his father could get well started 
on the incline, he dashed headlong into the 
bushes at the side of the road, and hid him- 
self deftly among the underbrush. A few min- 
utes later he both heard and saw his father, 
panting hard, go past, and he remained hid- 
den until the old man had returned the way 
he came, discouraged from further chasing by 
having lost sight of the boy. 

When he was safely out of the way, Davy 
emerged once more, and fearful to go home 
again, he pushed on down the road. Twilight 
found him still trudging onward, but close to 
the cabin of a man he knew. 



DAVID CROCKETT 45 

"Howdy, Mr. Cheek," he said affably, ap- 
pearing suddenly in that worthy settler's door- 
way. 

"Hello, Davy, that you?" answered his host. 
"Step in and have a bite." 

Jesse Cheek's family was just sitting down 
to the evening meal, and Davy was glad 
enough to join them in their repast. He kept 
his ears wide open, and soon gathered that the 
man of the house was on the point of starting 
for Virginia with a drove of cattle. 

"I've had some experience in drivin' cattle, 
myself," remarked Davy. "I'd be pleased to 
go with you, Mr. Cheek, and help you out." 

Under the questioning of the settler Davy 
was led to tell of his adventures on his pre- 
vious trip to Virginia, and the upshot of the 
matter was that Davy was engaged to go along 
with Jesse Cheek and his cattle to Front Royal, 
on the Shenandoah River, a couple of hundred 
miles further into Virginia than Davy's pre- 
vious trip had taken him. Before they started, 
another of the Crockett boys, tired of the rough 
tavern and anxious to see the world, had joined 
the little party. 



AN ACCOUNT OF TWO YEARS WANDERING 

Spring had smiled upon the Tennessee val- 
leys, and the sweet arbutus had been tempting 
the industrious bees all day as a lanky, large- 
boned boy of about fifteen swung along the old 
road to Crockett's Tavern. His sandy hair 
fell in thick locks almost to his shoulders and 
was brushed back behind his ears. A straight 
nose, a wide, generous mouth, and merry blue 
eyes made up a countenance that was whim- 
sical and engaging. 

Drawing near, the boy hesitated for a mo- 
ment, and then stepped up boldly to the tavern 
door. A young man was just coming out. 

"Howdy," began the youth. "Might I be 
havin' a word with the tavern keeper?" 

"He's yonder," returned the young man. 
"Is it a shake-down for the night you are look- 
in' for?" 

"It is," said the boy, "and I can turn a hand 
to any thin'." 

46 



DAVID CROCKETT 47 

"None more welcome than you then," said 
the other heartily. "Step in. Supper will be 
on the table this minute." 

The sandy-haired boy gratefully stepped in- 
side, his sharp eyes roving the assembled com- 
pany. There were several teamsters around 
the immense fireplace, smoking their pipes and 
cracking their rough jokes. The lad moved, 
unnoticed, into a corner, and sat watching the 
tavern keeper's wife and her daughters pre- 
paring supper. But a few minutes had passed 
before the table was ready, and all drew up for 
the evening meal. There was a stronger light 
around the table than had shone in the strange 
boy's corner ; as he came forward and took his 
place one of the girls of the household caught 
sight of his face, and she studied it intently, as 
though struck by the features. As for the lad, 
as soon as he observed the girl's scrutiny, he 
blushed fiery red and dropped his eyes uneas- 
ily to the food before him. 

"It's Davy, Mother!" shrieked the girl, run- 
ning around the table and throwing her arms 
about the lad's stalwart shoulders. "It's my 
lost brother, come home again!" and she burst 
into happy tears. 



48 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

"Davy!" cried the tavern keeper's wife, a 
weary, work-worn woman who had never 
known aught but hard times. 

"Is it you, Davy lad?" She came closer 
and gazed into the embarrassed eyes of the 
wanderer. 

"I'm that same Davy," he said, with a chok- 
ing throat. 

The old tavern keeper came in and slapped 
him on the back. 

"Sit you down and give us the news," he 
said jovially. "It's nigh on two years since 
you gave me the slip, Davy," he added. 

"We took you for dead," put in one of the 
girls. "Since Jim here came back with the 
news that you'd gone to Virginny, we heard 
never a word of what had become of you." 

Davy was deeply touched. He had not real- 
ized that his parents and his brothers and sis- 
ters must have worried during his long ab- 
sence; when he had thought of home he had 
visioned also the hickory stick with which his 
father had threatened him. Now, apparently, 
the long-deferred punishment was to be aban- 
doned, and his heart swelled in gratitude at 
the warmth of his reception. 



DAVID CROCKETT 4^ 

"Well, the vittles do be coolin'," announced 
his mother briskly, "time enough for tellin' 
tales after supper's done." 

Davy, like all the rest of the company, was 
hungry enough to tackle beef on the hoof, and 
he was glad of the opportunity to devote him- 
self exclusively to feeding. Everybody fell to 
with great gusto, and the boiled beef and 
"chicken fixin's" disappeared with unbehevable 
rapidity. 

After supper Davy was the center of attrac- 
tion. "Let's hear some o' yo're goin's on, me 
young buck," said one of the teamsters. 

"Yes, Davy, me boy, let's hear what you've 
been doin' with yourself," his father joined in. 

Davy was confused at being the target for 
their attention, and he tried to shrug it off. 

"There warn't enough happened to me to 
shake a stick at," he declared. 

But the assembly was not to be put off. 

"That don't go," cried John Crockett. 
"Where'd you get to after you left Jesse 
Cheek?" 

The brother who had accompanied Davy and 
their neighbor Cheek to Virginia, had returned 
shortly after and told of meeting Davy on the 



50 FAMOUS AMERICAlSrS 

road, hired out to another teamster, and bound 
for northern Virginia. 

"We did a heap o' travelin'," Davy admitted. 
"We went along o' Mr. Cheek to more places 
than I know'd the name of — Blue Ridge 
Springs, Lynchburg, Orange Court House, 
and I don't know what all, to Front Royal on 
the Shenandoah. Mr. Cheek sold his drove 
there and I left with his brother to come back 
home. 

"The brother was the orneriest varmint 
you'd see in a month's walk," he continued, get- 
ting warmed up at the recollection of his 
wrongs in that quarter. "He had a horse, and, 
thinks I, hell be lettin' me ride part o' the 
way; but the mean critter took care to ride 
all the time, and never to tie, and in three 
days I got disgusted and told him to go ahead, 
and I would come when ready. I had about 
four dollars in my pocket and I took pains not 
to catch up with him again." 

"Great snakes, boy!" cried one of the team- 
sters. "Yuh don't mean yuh cut loose like 
that in the middle o' the woods?" 

"Oh, he'd done it before," put in John 
Crockett. "He tried comin' home alone from 



DAVID CROCKETT 51 

half-way to Virginny when he warn't Gut 
twelve." 

Davy was encouraged by this unwonted ad- 
miration. 

"I was bound I wouldn't travel along o' 
such an ornery critter," he declared, "and be- 
fore I know'd just how I'd get back, I met up 
with a jolly good fellow from Greenville, Ten- 
nessee. He had a wagon and was bound for 
Gerardstown, in Virginny, and he p'inted out 
that I might as well go along o' him, because 
he was comin' straight back to Tennessee after- 
ward. I thought about it some, and he was 
such a jolly fellow that I decided to go with 
him. We journeyed on slowly, but merrily 
enough. I thought o' home often, and wished 
to be back, but I thought o' Dad here and I had 
the f eelin' that his dander was up for sure, and 
his spite would be hangin' on to him like a 
turtle does to a fisherman's toe. So, thinks I, if 
I go back in a hurry he'll be givin' me the 
devil in three or four ways. 

*'It was while I was travelin' back with this 
fellow, by the name of Adam Myers, that Jim 
come along the road and urged me to come 
home, so pleadin' that I shed tears to hear 



52 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

him, but the thought o' the promised whippin' 
came slap down on every thought o' home, and 
I determined that, hit or miss, make or break, 
I would just hang on to my journey. We 
went ahead, but when we got to Gerardstown, 
old Myers couldn't get a load back, and he 
concluded to wait and run his team back and 
forth between there and Baltimore. I got 
work with an old farmer, at plowin' and the 
like, and he gave me twenty-five cents a day, 
so that when spring come round I could get 
me some decent clothes. 

"I was gettin' pretty perky about then, and 
I took it into my head to have a look at Balti- 
more, o' which I heard a good many tales, and 
I was wild to see the sort o' place it was, and 
the kind o' folks that lived there. I gave old 
Myers the balance of the money I had for safe 
keeping, which as I recollect, was about seven 
dollars, and started out with him on the load 
o' flour he was haulin'. 

"We went along in a merry fashion, and 
pretty soon we got nearin' a place called Elli- 
cott's Mills. I was minded not to be passin' 
the houses with my old, dirty, mud-spattered 
clothes on me, so I crept up among the flour 



DAVID CROCKETT 53 

bar'ls to put on my new suit. But as bad 
luck would have it, while I was in there we 
were met by some wheel-barrow men, who 
were workin' on the road, and the horses took 
a scare and away they went, like they had seen 
a ghost. They made a sudden wheel around, 
and broke the wagon tongue slap, short off, as 
a pipe-stem; and snap went both of the axle- 
trees at the same time. 

"Well, we put our load in another wagon and 
went on to Baltimore. When I saw all them 
big ships I wanted to go to London, but the 
wagoner wouldn't let me off. So I worked my 
way back. 

"But I had my troubles afterward all right 
enough. I got down the valley between the 
Alleghany and the Blue Ridge until I come 
to Montgomery Court House, when I found 
my last cent was gone. Not bein' a beggar, 
I hired out to a man for five dollars for a 
month and when the time was out, I bound 
myself to a hatter by the name of Elijah Grif- 
fith. I agreed to work four years, but at the 
end of eighteen months I found myself out in 
the cold again, for the hatter's shop went to 
pieces for debt, and the shopkeeper left the 



54 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

country. I was left, of course, without any 
money, for I had received nothing, and I had 
but few clothes, and them very indifferent 
ones. But I worked around again on farms 
until I could collect a little money and some 
clothes, and then I cut out again for home." 
"You shore had a roundabout way o' get- 
tin' back," observed John Crockett. 



VI 

DAYY TAKES A PARTNER 

Adventure failed to find Davy Crockett for 
a year after he returned to his father's tavern. 
But he made good use of the respite to pay 
off a couple of John Crockett's debts, of which 
there were a-plenty, though the old man was 
honest at heart and sincerely desirous of meet- 
ing his obligations. 

"Would you be wishful to go free, Davy?" 
he asked one day soon after the young man's 
return, meaning, would Davy like to be re- 
leased from the obligation, in force at that 
time, to work for his father until the age of 
twenty-one, when he would be at liberty to 
strike out for himself and keep whatever wages 
he could earn. 

"Because," the elder Crockett went on, "I'd 
be givin' you your freedom, if it might be that 
you'd be willin' to work out a note that that 
rascal of an Abe Wilson holds against me," 

55 



56 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

Davy knew of Abraham Wilson, an unprin- 
cipled, dissipated neighbor, at whose house 
there was constant drinking and gambling. 

"How long would I stay?" he inquired. 

"A matter o' six months; the note's for 
thirty-six dollars. Then you'd be free as the 
air," wheedled the father. 

Davy was sorry for the old man, whose trou- 
bles had been more nimierous than his years. 

"I'll do that," he agreed, and immediately 
set out to fulfil the contract. So well did he 
succeed, that at the end of the six months, the 
dissolute Wilson tried his best to get him to 
remain as his helper. 

"It's high wages," Davy reflected to him- 
self, considering the offer. "But a heap o' bad 
company put in their time here. I should be 
gettin' a bad name if I stayed, as nobody could 
be respectable that would live here. I'd better 
be makin' tracks for home." 

Next day he accepted his father's note, and 
set out for the little wayside tavern. Old 
John Crockett was mightily pleased when the 
paper which released him from Wilson's power 
was put into his hand, and he consented readily 
when Davy announced that he was going "to 



DAVID CROCKETT 57 

cast an eye around among the neighbors for 
somethin' to turn a hand to." 

His path led to the home of an old Quaker, 
by the name of John Kennedy, who had re- 
cently moved from North Carolina. The new- 
comer was kindly, as his rule of life bade him 
be. 

"Thou'rt a strong young lad," he said, eye- 
ing Davy's sturdy frame approvingly. "I'll 
warrant thy hand holds a steady ax. And 
these acres need just such a brawny caretaker." 

"I'll be doin' whatever's needful for two 
shillin' a day," offered Davy. But the Quaker 
was cautious. 

"I'll take thee for a week's trial," he agreed. 

Taking up the offer light-heartedly, Davy 
worked industriously all the week, felling 
trees, caring for the livestock, and turning a 
hand to whatever was required of him. At 
the end of his probation, the Quaker came out 
one morning, and seating himself upon a tree 
which Davy had felled the day before, he ob- 
served : 

"Thou'rt a good worker, lad, and thy father 
ought to take pride in his son. Now, I've 
an offer for thee. That same John Crockett 



58 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

owes me a matter of forty dollars, and I hold 
his note for it. But I'd be willing to deliver 
it, if I had thee to work for me for six months." 

Davy turned his eyes to the far horizon. He 
had his freedom, it was true; there was no 
need for him to discharge his father's debt. 
He was certain that, if he did work out the 
note, none of the money would be coming to 
him, for his father was so poor — so poor ! That 
was it. Just because he was poor, and work- 
worn and discouraged — and his father, Davy 
decided he must help him. 

"I'll take you up, Mr. Kennedy," he said. 

Six months later, Davy Crockett rode up 
to the Crockett tavern, iSfteen miles from the 
Kennedy homestead. The horse he rode was 
a borrowed steed, to be sure, but the rider was 
none the less merry-hearted for that. 

"Howdy, Dad," he shouted in his hearty, 
rough voice, bursting into the little cabin, 
where the family was gathered around the fire. 
It was Sunday evening, and there were no 
guests at the tavern. 

"Here's a bit of paper my old Quaker sent 
me to give you," said Davy, who had not been 
home for the whole six months. 



DAVID CROCKETT 59 

John Crockett held out a trembling hand 
for the paper. His head drooped dejectedly; 
the lines and furrows in his face seemed to 
deepen. 

"I can't pay it," he said. "I haven't got the 
money; I can't get it noways. I don't know 
what I c'n do." 

"Hi, Dad! Eiz up and flap your wings," 
cried Davy, slapping the old man on the shoul- 
der. "The note's yours, a present from me. 
I paid it with six months' o' labor. An' if I 
know'd the first letter in the book I'd read the 
paper for you." 

His father stared at him a moment, then the 
tears gathered in his eyes, and he faltered out 
his thanks. 

"That's more'n I ever expected, Davy, you 
payin' this after I give you your freedom and 
all. I wisht I could pay you even a little bit o' 
the money; I shore do wish it. But I can't; I 
haven't any money at all." 

Davy assured his father that he cared noth- 
ing for the money, and announced his intention 
of returning to the Quaker's home to earn 
enough to get him some new clothes. 

"My last new suit was left with that old var- 



60 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

mint, Adam Myers, when I ran away from him 
down Baltimore way, and that was nigh three 
year ago," he remarked. 

Pretty Polly Finlay was a mirthful maiden 
of seventeen, who lived about fifteen miles 
away from the Quaker's home. Davy met her 
at a reaping frolic, and thereafter her warm 
gray eyes and tender smile haunted him. The 
courtship continued for many weeks, hindered 
by the girl's mother, helped by various acci- 
dental happenings, among which was a great 
wolf hunt. 

Wolves roamed the forests in great numbers, 
and were a source of constant trouble to the 
settlers. In the winter, when the snow was 
hard, they hunted in huge packs, furious with 
hunger. Their howls filled the dark hours of 
the night; their stealthy footsteps followed 
travelers, seeking a chance to attack, for the 
wolf is a coward, and will not fight openly un- 
less driven to it. Wolf hunts were common, 
when the neighbors would combine for miles in 
every direction, starting out at the same time to 
hunt tlirough the woods, so that the wolves 
escaping one hunter, might be driven into 



DAVID CROCKETT 61 

range of others scattered here and there. 

David Crockett was ever ready for a hunt of 
any kind. When the wolf hunt was announced, 
therefore, he was on hand with his rifle, and 
plunged recklessly into the woods. The bark- 
ing of the dogs which some of the settlers had 
brought with them died away gradually in the 
distance as the forest deepened about him. It 
was early winter; the trees were bare and the 
wind was sharp ; a light snow had drifted down 
upon the fallen leaves. Davy strode along, 
confident, as he ever was when surrounded by 
his native wilds. But he was in a part of the 
woods he had never traversed before, and it 
had, apparently, no settlers. He walked 
briskly for a long time, hearing nothing, seeing 
nothing but forest sounds and sights. Mean- 
while the sky had clouded ; snow was in the air. 

"Well, now, who'd expect an old wildcat like 
me to be gettin' lost?" he asked himself in sur- 
prise. "If there was sun, now, or even moon,^ 
I'd soon be findin' what direction I ought to 
travel. Let's see if I can glimpse a cabin, or 
a curl of smoke." 

With that he selected a tall tree, and climbed 
nimbly high among the branches. His keen 



62 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

eyes searched the distance, but there was no 
sign of a break in the forest ; no curling smoke 
to indicate a settler's home. 

"I reckon it's time I was stragglin' home," 
he murmured whimsically as he slid down the 
tree-trunk ; and he started away in the direction 
that he thought most likely to lead home. For 
six or seven miles he trudged onward, growing 
more bewildered with every step, and casting 
anxious glances at the darkening sky, for night 
was coming on by this time. Suddenly he heard 
a crackling in the bushes, very faint, very far 
away. Instantly his rifle was in position; he 
was sure it was a wolf — the long sought wolf 
that had led him so many miles astray. But as 
his finger found the trigger, the: 3 flashed into 
Davy's mind the old admonition of his father : 
"Look mighty hard before you shoot ; it may be 
a man you see, but you can always get a man." 
Davy looked mighty hard in the gathering 
gloom, and this second glance caused him to 
lower his weapon and with a sharp exclama- 
tion, plunge off into the bushes after the fleeing 
figure that he had recognized as a woman's. 
It was a hard chase for a minute; the flying 
figure was far ahead, and evidently believed 



DAVID CROCKETT 63 

itself pursued by an enemy. When he was 
within hearing distance, Davy shouted : 

"Hi — hi, there. Miss Greased Lightnin'!" 

At the sound of his voice the woman turned, 
and waited for him to come up. 

"David Crockett!" she shrieked joyously 
when his brawny figure strode from the 
bushes. 

"Polly!" cried David, stiff with surprise. 

Polly ran to him and clung to his arm. "I've 
been out in the woods all day," she cried, the 
tears starting again in her pretty eyes. "I 
went out to hunt one of father's horses, and I 
got lost. Oh, David, what would have become 
of me if you hadn't been here! Did you come 
out to look for me?" 

"Not a bit of it," said David, honest in spite 
of his desire to tell the girl he had rescued her 
on purpose. "And what's more, I'm lost, too, 
and I nearly shot you for a wolf when I saw 
you streaking it along like all wrath." 

With that he put an arm about the girl, his 
eyes full of the joy of being able to protect her 
and half carrying her thus, they continued their 
uncertain way through the woods. Presently 
they struck a path. 



64 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

"I reckon this leads somewhere," observed 
David, and they set out to follow it. It did lead 
to a cabin home, and before the night had 
really set in, Polly and David had been wel- 
comed by the settler and his wife who lived 
there, and had been offered refreshment and 
shelter, which were always open to any friend, 
known or unknown, in the wilderness. They 
learned that they were far from their respec- 
tive homes; Polly was seven miles from hers, 
and David ten miles from the Kennedy home. 
When morning came the two parted to return 
to their own dwellings, but David was now 
head over heels in love with pretty Polly, and 
determined to win her for his wife. He had 
already bargained with the Quaker to work for 
six months in order to pay for a horse, for he 
felt that, before marriage, he should acquire 
some property, in order to give him more stand- 
ing. That, he knew, was the reason for Polly's 
mother's opposition to the match — his penniless 
condition. But lack of money had never yet 
deterred him from whatever he wanted to do; 
he resolved that nothing in the world would 
keep him from getting Polly, barring Polly 
herself. Consequently he threw in his rifle, and 



DAVID CROCKETT 65 

asked the old Quaker to call it square and de- 
liver him his horse. 

Rich though he felt himself with a fine horse 
to call his own, David found great difficulties 
in his way when he started preparations for his 
wedding. He went to his father's tavern, and 
made arrangements to have his bride received 
there. Then he rode gaily to the home of his 
intended wife, to ask her parents for her hand. 
Mrs. Finlay was not glad to see him; she had 
other plans for Polly, which included the hope 
of a richer husband — it would have been hard 
to find a poorer one than Davy ! She promptly 
ordered the gallant suitor out of the house. 

"You're willin' to take me, Polly?" asked 
David, furious at his reception, of the slim 
girl cowering in fear against the cabin walL 
She nodded. 

"Then I'll be comin' next Thursday," de- 
clared Davy, "and I'll bring a horse, saddle 
and bridle for you, and you must be ready to 
come along o' me. For we'll be married, Polly, 
but I won't be married in this house." 

"Ye shan't get my girl," shrilled the mother 
after him, as he turned away from the door and 
mounted his horse. 



66 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

"But I know I shall, if somebody else don't 
get her before Thursday," thought David to 
himself. 

Sure enough, when Thursday dawned, a 
bright sun looked down upon a gay enough 
wedding party winding its way on horseback 
through the dim forest. It consisted of the 
intended bridegroom, his eldest brother and his 
wife, another brother and a sister, besides two 
other young men, neighbors of the Crocketts. 
This company proceeded to within two miles 
of the Finlay home, when it was met by a large 
crowd of folk from the surrounding country, 
who had heard of the approaching wedding and 
the opposition of the bride's mother. Davy 
was popular for miles around, because of his 
genial ways and generous nature, and was ad- 
mired besides for his skill and daring in all the 
backwoods games and feats of strength. His 
friends wanted to lend him their support and 
sjTiipathy, and also not to miss anything that 
might be going on. Some rode horseback, some 
were afoot, and all mingled together the im- 
posing company swept up the road to Polly 
Finlay's humble home. Weddings were per- 
haps the most popular social events in the year 



DAVID CROCKETT 67 

1804. Davy rode at the head. He clattered 
up to the cabin door, and without any attempt 
at dismounting, pushed it wide and shouted 
within : 

"Are you ready, Polly?" 

Poor Polly, who had had no chance to pre- 
pare a wedding gown even if it were possible 
for her to have one, falteringly answered, as 
she came forward: 

"Yes, David." 

*'Then light on this horse I'm leadin','' com- 
manded her determined fiance, and the maiden 
meekty obeyed. With a shout of triumph 
David flicked his horse wdth the reins, and the 
whole party turned, preparatory to following 
the pair to the home of the justice of the peace. 
Mrs. Finlay stood abashed. She had supposed 
David would come alone, and she meant to give 
him such a tongue lashing as would prevent 
him from ever returning to her home. But the 
sight of so many neighbors had taken her 
aback. She knew their sympathies were not 
with her, and she dared not begin a tirade 
against the sturdy David with everyone looking 
on and listening. She was a woman of strong 
impulses, and after all, David was a likely 



68 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

young fellow, even if he hadn't a penny to his 
name. 

*'Wait/' she commanded suddenly, extend- 
ing a hand to the departing couple. "I can't 
bear to see Polly goin' off to get married away 
from home," she explained; "she's the first 
child I ever had to marry, and I don't want to 
lose her. But get down and come in ; I'll do the 
best I can for you." 

With that, David, whose anger was quickly 
cooled, lifted his little bride from her horse, and 
sent off post-haste for his parson. The mar- 
riage was performed at once, and the bride and 
groom rode away to the Crockett cabin, amid 
the shouted good wishes of the assembled com- 
pany. 

"I've gotten my wife," exulted David. "I 
need nothing more in the whole world." 



VII 

DAVY GETS HIS DANDER UP 

"Davy, Davy!" called Polly Crockett one 
morning, running out of a rather dilapidated 
cabin on the banks of a little stream. 

"Whoa, there, Polly girl," returned Davy 
imperturbably, looking up from his leisurely 
preparation of some deerskins which he in- 
tended for tanning. "What's the disturbance? 
Old Sharpnose the b'ar got one o' the young 
'uns?" Old Sharpnose was a bear that had 
been raiding neighboring pig-pens for several 
weeks past, and the surrounding region had 
been considerably worked up over his depreda- 
tions. 

"Davy," whispered Polly, who was now close 
beside him, "I just saw an Indian hiding in the 
bushes." 

David was alert on the instant, though he 
refused to show excitement by look or word. 

"Shucks, girl," he said, taking Polly's arm, 

69 



70 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

"a friendly Injun in the woods don't mean 
much." 

He walked toward the cabin door, neverthe- 
less, his mind busy with the tales that had been 
drifting through the border of late; tales of 
discontent among the Creeks; half -substanti- 
ated stories of plundered homes, stolen cattle 
and missing children. 

David and Polly had been married now for 
several years; it was the year 1813, and David 
was nearly twenty-seven years old ; there were 
two little boys in the household. The family 
lived far away from the old Crockett tavern, 
for Davy had found that, far from needing 
nothing more in the world when he had secured 
his wife, he needed more than he had ever 
dreamed necessary for his growing family; he 
had moved twice, therefore, farther and farther 
into the wilderness, in order that he might get 
a settler's title to some land, in a region where 
game was plentiful. He had finally chosen 
a site on a stream known as Bean's creek, ten 
miles below what is still Winchester, in Ten- 
nessee. 

Scarcely had Davy and Polly reached the 
cabin door, when a lone figure appeared in the 



DAVID CROCKETT 71 

clearing. It was not an Indian, but a traveler 
from Virginia, seeking new lands for home, and 
at the invitation of the Crocketts, he remained 
at their cabin for the night. He had heard 
vague rumors, in his travels, of discontent 
among the Creeks in Alabama, parties of 
whom occasionally strayed over the Tennessee 
border. 

"Old Tecumseh's out for blood," the traveler 
declared, sitting on the cabin doorstep after 
supper. "He's one bad Indian too," he went 
on. "Have you-all heard that he's a British 
agent?" 

"Well, I did hear some talk," acknowledged 
Davy. 

"You see it's this-away," continued the vis- 
itor. "The British are leadin' our seamen a 
mighty lively dance on the ocean; takin' them 
off our ships and puttin' them into the King's 
service, they do say. There's got to be war; 
and the British are lookin' to this here Tecum- 
seh to stir up the Indians ag'in us." 

Davy and Polly were spellbound. Great 
events in the outside world had hitherto passed 
them by. They lived a life of their own; in 
the forest, of the forest. War seemed a remote 



72 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

thing, despite the occasional mutterings of 
trouble that had come to their ears. 

David Crockett was greatly impressed by 
the tale of the chance traveler, and a few weeks 
later his vague fears were confirmed. He had 
ridden the ten miles to Winchester, to trade 
some skins for household supplies, and he came 
upon an excited throng in the middle of the 
little settlement. Men, women and children 
were grouped about a tall man, who was talk- 
ing loudly, with wild gestures. 

*'The red cut-throats!" he was shouting as 
Davy drew near. "Murderin' dogs, every 
mother's son o' them!" 

"What's wrong, stranger?" inquired Davy, 
pushing his way through the throng. 

"There's been a massacre at Fort Mims," 
returned the man. "More than five hundred 
white folk, mutilated or dead — mostly both. 
It was only a week ago, on August 30th." 

Davy's heart sank ; he knew nothing of war- 
fare ; brave though he was, he had never hunted 
anything but the wild animals of his native 
woods; he had lived among peaceful Indians, 
and the furious beat of the tom-tom and the 
war whoop of savages had been merely tales to 



DAVID CROCKETT 73 

him, terrifying tales though they were. 

"Let's hear the way of it, stranger," he in- 
vited. 

Eagerly the center of attention, he began his 
story once more. It was a tale of horror and 
bloodshed. 

A gasp of horror went up from the crowd 
surrounding the speaker, and many of the 
women wept openly at the picture of cruel war- 
fare, Davy felt his hands clench, and the blood 
leave his face. But it was the pallor of rage, 
not of fear that overspread his features. 

"Did you escape?" he asked the stranger. 

"No, I was not even there, but I passed that 
way a short time after it was over. I fell in 
with a man who had been one of the unfortu- 
nates at the fort. He told me that not more 
than a dozen people escaped. It was he who 
led the few who got away out of the fort, by 
cutting a hole in the picketing. They had to 
run straight into the Indian lines, and it's a 
marvel how any of them came out alive. This 
Dr. Holmes, which is his name, ran like mad 
for the woods, v/ith the bullets flying all around 
him. The savages pursued him, but he man- 
aged to hide in a hole left by a tree that had 



74 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

been uprooted by a storm. When the Indians 
had given up the hunt for him, he stole away 
at night and wandered for a long time before 
he found anyone to take him in." 

As he finished, David Crockett leaped into 
his saddle and with his right arm upraised, he 
cried to the bystanders : 

"I've licked wildcats and killed bears but I've 
never split an Indian's head with his own toma- 
hawk. That's what I'm goin' to do now, till 
this here right arm's mighty tired." 

A cheer went up from the throng as he rode 
away, post-haste toward home with the terri- 
ble news. 

Polly saw his excitement as soon as he came 
in sight. 

"Whatever's the matter, Davy?" she asked, 
terror-stricken. He told her the story, and it 
lost nothing in the telling. 

"There's a big war comin', Polly," he fin- 
ished, "and I'll be goin' to it with the first." 

"Oh, Davy!" cried his little wife, "it won't 
come to that?" 

But it did. Only a few days later, a general 
meeting of the militia was called at Winchester, 
and volunteers were called for. 



DAVID CROCKETT 75 

"I'm on my way to Winchester," said Davy, 
on the day of the meeting. "They'll be wantin' 
volunteers. It's a duty I owe my country. 
Buck up, Polly, there's my brave girl." 

Poor Polly turned away to her spinning 
wheel, and began to weave. But her hands 
shook at her work, and the heavy tears blinded 
her so that she could hardly see. David bent 
over her for a moment, his arm around her 
shoulders. Then he went out into the autumn 
sunlight, mounted his horse, and rode away in 
the direction of Winchester. 



VIII 

A KEDSKIN BEHIND EVERY TREE 

"We've shore got 'em cooked to a cracklin' 
this time; the Indians in that there town are 
bound for another country." 

David, with a handful of volunteers, was dis- 
cussing a proposed attack on an Indian vil- 
lage eight miles away. The volunteer army, 
nine hundred strong, was encamped at Ten 
Islands, on the Coosa River, where a fort had 
been built. Several weeks had passed since the 
first Indian scare, and Andrew Jackson, by 
popular acclaim, had been chosen as the leader 
of the white men against the red. There had 
been as yet no real fighting, but plenty of hard- 
ship and near-starvation for the little army, 
which strengthened rather than lessened the de- 
termination of the volunteers to show the In- 
dians their mettle. Now that they were on the 
verge of a real conflict, the talk ran wildly on 
the coming excitement. It was nearly day- 
break; the start was about to be made. 

76 



DAVID CROCKETT 77 

"We'll give 'em what-for, eh, boys?" cried 
Davy as the order to march came. He was 
twenty-seven now, sturdy as one of the mighty 
trees around him, and had a full beard. He 
was yet to know fear. 

The force included a party of friendly Cher- 
okees, and two friendly Creeks who were to act 
as scouts. These Indians wore white feathers 
on their heads, and deer tails, in order to pre- 
vent them for being mistaken for the enemy. 
As the attacking party neared the town, the 
order was given to divide, so as to surround 
the place. Davy was with the cavalry, which 
went to the right of the line of march, while 
those on foot turned to the left. Both lines 
had passed around the town and met on the far 
side, completely enclosing it, without detection 
from those within, when a company of rangers 
was sent to bring on the affray. As they 
neared the town, the Indians saw them. In a 
long quivering cry, a yell burst from every 
red throat. Grasping their rifles, the savages 
ran at the handful of whites, whom they evi- 
dently believed to be the whole force with which 
they had to deal. 

"Hold your fire!" cried David, to a fellow 



78 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

beside him who was taking aim. "Wait till 
they are closer." 

The other dropped his rifle and stood, shoul- 
der to shoulder with Davy, watching as the 
rangers fell slowly back, decoying the Indians 
into the hands of the main line. Believing they 
had the rangers on the run, the Indians boldly 
pursued, until they were confronted with the 
sudden gleam of bristling rifles. 

"Now!" cried Davy, and he and his com- 
panion took careful aim and fired, at the same 
moment that nearly every other rifle exploded 
on that side of the town. The aim of both 
men was true; two Indians toppled and fell 
headlong. The sound of their triumphant yell 
died away in a gurgle, as bullets spat around 
them in every direction. Many red men fell 
on the instant ; the others fired one volley, and 
turning, fled for the shelter of their town. The 
mighty cordon of volunteers closed in swiftly, 
and the desperate firing of the Indians was of 
no avail. The advance of the paleface could 
not be stopped. 

Davy, who was among the first to rush into 
the town, saw many a warrior throw down his 
weapon in token of surrender, while through 



DAVID CROCKETT 79 

the hail of bullets rushed the squaws, crying 
for mercy. They seized the white men's coats, 
and hung on. These were taken prisoners, 
along with the warriors who surrendered. 

Meanwhile Davy Crockett was counting. 
**Forty-three, forty-four, forty-five, forty-six!" 
he shouted excitedly. "Forty-six Injuns just 
ran into that house; come on, boys, let's get 
'em!" 

Like a flash he had a whole company on his 
heels as he led the way to the place of refuge. 
There was a squaw sitting in the door with a 
bow in her hand, and as they approached she 
braced it with her foot, slipped an arrow into 
place and let it fly. It struck a man whose 
name was Lieutenant Moore. 

"Fire!" cried one of the men, enraged at his 
death, and a moment later the squaw rolled into 
the dust, her body riddled with twenty bullets. 
After that there was no mercy for the Indians ; 
the white men shot them down like dogs, and 
someone set fire to the house containing the 
forty- six warriors. 

When the count was taken, it was found that 
a hundred and eighty-six of the Indians had 
been killed or taken prisoners, while only five 



80 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

of the white men had lost their hves. The army 
returned to their fort, which they called Fort 
Strother, and next day Davy was one of a 
party sent back to see if there was any food in 
the town, for the army had been for several 
days on half rations. 

A few nights later, while the fort, still half- 
starved, was wrapped in slumber, the watch 
was startled by a voice from the forest : 

"No shoot!" it cried. "Injun friend. No 
shoot!" 

Permission was given for the "friend" to 
advance, the guard meanwhile watching the 
forest closely. But one Indian only appeared, 
and he begged to be sent to "Captain Jackson." 
As no information could be obtained otherwise, 
he was conducted to the general while the sol- 
diers, awakened by the clamor, waited fear- 
fully to hear of an approaching attack. 

Instead, an order came in a few minutes. It 
was: "Prepare to march at once." 

Within an hour the army was moving across 
the Coosa River and in the direction of the 
friendly Creek town of Talladega. Davy 
chanced to be near the runner, who had been 
supplied with a horse. 



DAVID CROCKETT 81 

*' What's the matter?" he asked him. *^Red 
Sticks after you?" 

The runner nodded. "Heap big army," he 
explained. "Won't let us have food — say we 
must come fight paleface." 

From the talk that soon drifted through the 
ranks, Davy learned that a hundred and fifty 
friendly Creeks, living in the little town of 
Talladega, were being besieged by eleven hun- 
dred Red Sticks, who demanded that they join 
the war party against the whites. They had 
been given three days to surrender, and in the 
meantime the besiegers camped outside, believ- 
ing that their victims would be starved out by 
that time. The runner who had reached Fort 
Strother had disguised himself as a hog, in 
order to escape through the lines of the Red 
Sticks. 

Friendly Indians led the white men to the be- 
sieged fort, and by sun-up the forces were di- 
viding as before, in order to surround the town 
and the besiegers as well. 

"Not a Red Stick in sight," murmured 
David as he marched on. He took up his po- 
sition with the rest, and watched while Major 
Russell, detached from the rest, was sent for- 



82 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

ward with his company, along with Captain 
Evans, and another small group to bring on the 
attack. As these men passed the fort, the top 
of it was lined with the friendly Indians of the 
town, who stood crying : 
"How-dy-do, brother? How-dy-do?" 
The whites had just passed by the town, 
when the Indians on the palisade broke into a 
stream of words in their own tongue, pointing 
and gesticulating frantically. The officers, ig- 
norant of their language, continued their way 
toward a high meadow that half encircled the 
town. As he watched, David saw two Indians 
jump from the palisade, and run to the horses 
of the leaders, pointing excitedly in the direc- 
tion of this meadow. The party halted; next 
moment the Red Sticks were upon them, a 
thousand screams of fury filling the morn- 
ing air as they rushed across the half -moon 
meadow, which was in reality the high bank of 
a stream. Beneath the shoulder of this bank, 
amid the heavy thickets, the savages had been 
in hiding. Armed with a few guns, and their 
own bows and arrows, the enraged Red 
Sticks charged on their foe. Their naked 
bodies seemed to be ablaze in the light of the 



DAVID CROCKETT 83 

rising sun, smeared as they were with scarlet 
paint. 

David, with his comrades beside him, pressed 
forward to meet the oncoming horde, as Rus- 
sell and Evans, abandoning their horses, led 
their men swiftly inside the fort. The savages 
came on yelling at every step, until the crackle 
of a rifle effectively stopped a cry here and 
there. Confronted with a furious onslaught of 
lead many turned to flee, only to be met by an- 
other wall of shining barrels closing in on 
them from the rear. The cordon of foot and 
horse which had been thrown around the town 
was doing effective work; the savages fell like 
hail on a summer's day. At last, in a frenzy, 
the survivors charged upon a part of the line 
that was made up of drafted militia; it broke 
the ranks, and the Indians escaped. When the 
dead were counted, it was found that four 
hundred had fallen. Fifteen whites were car- 
ried off the battlefield and laid in one grave, 
and two more died of their wounds. 

The army was pitiably small; there were less 
than a thousand whites, in addition to two 
hundred and fifty friendly Cherokees and 
Creeks, when Davy set out with a company of 



84 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

spies to lead the way for the army through the 
treacherous forest. 

They pushed their way to the Horseshoe 
Bend of the Tallapoosa River. 

"Indians!" cried Davy one morning, observ- 
ing the print of a moccasin in the soft earth. 

"Maybe it's just a hunter," suggested Jim 
Hart, who had elected to go with Davy. 

"Maybe it's a hunter a-huntin' our scalps," 
returned Davy scornfully. A few feet further 
on his words were justified. Many traces of 
moccasins were still fresh along the river bank 
and there were the remains of a huge bonfire, 
with the bones of animals scattered about, 
showing where the Indians had feasted. The 
scouts turned their horses about, and rode 
swiftly back to warn the army. 

Night had come on by the time the warning 
had been given, and it was decided to strike 
camp, though there was every prospect of an 
attack. Anxious straining into the darkness 
could avail nothing; it was best to take a rest 
when the opportunity offered. 

Davy prepared to take his sleep with the 
others ; he had ridden far, and, like all the army, 
he was but scantily nourished. The country 



DAVID CROCKETT 85 

at large seemed indifferent to the war on the 
Alabama nations, and supplies for the army 
were impossible to obtain. The Red Sticks, 
on the other hand, were being furnished with 
firearms and ammunition by the British, for 
the War of 1812 was raging, and it was a Brit- 
ish advantage when part of the Americans were 
occupied with local wars with the Indians. 

As he wrapped himself in his blanket for 
the sleep that he felt certain would soon be dis- 
turbed, Davy cast a longing glance toward the 
great forest wall. But it presented only a 
black impenetrable front to his gaze, and the 
red men whom Davy felt near remained hid- 
den in its mysterious depths. 

Night was at its blackest, just before the ap- 
proach of day, when the ominous note of the 
Indian war whoop struck into the conscious- 
ness of the sleeping soldiers. On the heels of 
the long-drawn cry came the crack of half a 
dozen rifles, as the Red Sticks took aim at 
the camp's sentinels. They rushed back, as the 
others, roused to action, sprang to their feet, 
rifles ready and eyes keen to pierce the dark- 
ness. The camp was made in the form of a 
hollow square; therefore the soldiers were be- 



86 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

tween the fires and the forest. Hurriedly some 
of the men threw fresh logs across the glaring 
coals. "We'll catch sight of the Indians in 
the blaze," they said confidently. Crack ! crack ! 
went the report of many rifles. The whites 
dodged and fired into the woods ; bullets buried 
themselves in the ground, sang about their 
ears. Davy and George Russell fought side 
by side, but they fought an invisible foe. 

"Them Indians are mighty wary," observed 
Davy during a short lull. "I ain't caught sight 
o' one yet, have you, George?" 

"Nary a one," replied George. "The var- 
mints are pickin' us out pretty well though, by 
the light o' these fires." As he spoke, Davy 
heard the swish of a bullet, and a soft sigh. 
George threw up his hands and sank to the 
ground. With set teeth, Davy turned from 
his stricken friend and fired furiously into the 
darkness. He reloaded his gun with terrible 
swiftness and fired again and again, but no 
sound came from the forest, nothing to show 
that any of the bullets found their mark. All 
around him, his comrades dropped, but no bit 
of winged lead found Davy Crockett, and he 
fired gallantly on until the dawn reddened the 



DAVID CROCKETT 87 

sky. Then like magic, the rain of bullets from 
the forest ceased, and the trees stood out gray 
and gaunt in the light of the coming day, but 
no painted warrior was to be seen, slinking 
through the underbrush. It was as if no battle 
had ever been, except for the wounded men. 
Four had been killed outright, and many had 
been hurt. George Russell was among the lat- 
ter, and Davy embraced him rapturously when 
he found that the bullet which caught him had 
gone clean through his leg. 

"You'll be peggin' away in no time, y' young 
wildcat, you," he told him confidently, and 
George smiled feebly in answer. 

"Here, Davy," called one of the men, "give 
us a hand here with a shovel. We'll get these 
poor boys under ground afore the Injuns get 
a chance to scalp 'em." 

Davy lent a willing hand, and soon there was 
a hole deep enough for the bodies of the four 
dead men. They covered them over with earth, 
and made a huge bonfire on top, so that the 
Indians might not guess where they were 
buried. Then they hastily set to work cutting 
down young trees, in order to make long, flexi- 
ble poles. These they bound together with 



88 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

ropes of deerskin, which they carried, rolled 
into balls, for just such a purpose. When a 
strong litter had thus been made, it was fas- 
tened between two horses, one at each end, and 
on this a wounded man could be fairly comfor- 
table. The four were disposed of in this fash- 
ion, and the army began its retreat. 

All this time the forest had been silent with 
a menacing calm. The men were now tired 
out with their hard fighting, and General Jack- 
son hoped to get them away from the danger 
of attack before they should be surprised once 
more. 

Davy rode over the rough, narrow way, jest^ 
ing and telhng funny stories for the benefit of 
George, who needed all the consolation he 
could get, in Davy's estimation. 

"Yes," Davy was saying, "the major in- 
sisted that he'd seen two balls o' fire, right on 
the limb over our heads " 

Crack ! Leaving his story unfinished, Davy 
whirled around in the direction of the creek he 
had just crossed. About half the army was 
safely across, but a horde of Indians had risen 
from behind stumps and trees, and fallen upon 
the rear guard with a heavy shower of lead. 



DAVID CROCKETT 89 

The scene was wildly confused. Major Rus- 
sell, who had been left behind when the march 
started, in order to gather information about 
the movements of the Indians, was now visible, 
with his party of scouts, hotly pursued by a 
host of yelling savages. In one glance Davy 
took in the situation : the savages had chosen a 
perfect moment for their attack; the artillery- 
men were in an open field, surrounded by the 
forest; it was on these men that the Indians, 
themselves safe in the woods, began to direct 
their heaviest fire. With every crack of their 
rifles, almost, a white man fell prostrate, and 
to Davy's horror he saw that panic had seized 
the ranks of the whites. He saw two colonels 
fleeing for their lives with their men behind 
them, leaving the rear guard, only twenty-five 
men, under Colonel Carroll, surrounded by 
the howling savages. His eyes narrowed as 
he saw one of the colonels, crazed by fear, 
riding past General Jackson himself, and he 
saw the lunge that Jackson made at him with 
his sword, but missed him as he sped by. 

Next instant Davy had thrown caution to 
the winds and, riding frantically, he threw 
himself in with Major Russell and his scouts, 



90 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

who were rushing aross the stream to aid the 
rear guard. Meanwhile the artillerymen had 
succeeded in dragging their one six-pound can- 
non to the top of the hill which formed the bank 
of the creek. 

"Ha, you red varmint!" exulted Davy, as a 
shot from his rifle laid low an oncoming 
savage. His exultation was premature. As 
the redskin's death cry quivered on the air, 
Davy turned to confront two more, hideously 
painted, with cold ferocity in their eyes. He 
took careful aim at the rude painting of a 
beaver on a savage breast, and the nearer of 
the two Indians fell forward on his face. But 
there was no time to reload, the second war- 
rior was close, tomahawk upraised; another 
spring 

Davy whipped his own tomahawk from his 
belt, and before the savage could spring, he 
was upon him, fighting with the fury of a wild- 
cat at bay. The Indian was too quick for the 
first blow that Davy aimed at his head; he 
jumped aside, and swung his tomahawk; Davy, 
furious that his first blow had been lost, put all 
his strength in a leap toward the Indian as the 
blow descended; his own head struck the 



DAVID CROCKETT 91 

Indian's upraised arm, sending the hatchet 
whirling from his grasp ; with bhnd rage Davy 
struck with his own tomahawk at the same 
time, hardly knowing where his blow fell; he 
gazed, stupefied with surprise, as the warrior's 
head rolled at his feet. 

But there was no time to waste in idle won- 
der. Hastily reloading his rifle, Davy looked 
around for another foe. The sound of hailing 
grapeshot caught his attention, and he saw with 
satisfaction that the artillerymen had turned 
their Cannon on the Indians below the high 
bank of the creek, spreading death and terror. 
They took to their heels and ran for the woods, 
and Davy with the other scouts pursued them, 
shooting at every step. When the Indian dead 
were counted, one hundred and eighty-nine 
were found on the scene of battle; twenty vol- 
unteers had been killed and seventy-five were 
wounded. The way was now clear for Jack- 
son's retreat to the Coosa River, and he fell 
back without any further encounters. 



IX 

WRESTING A HOME FROM THE WILDERNESS 

Several years had elapsed since the close of 
the Creek War, and Davy's return to his little 
family on Bean's Creek. He had lived with 
his wife and children happily for a couple of 
years, and a little girl had been added to the 
family circle, when Polly, the loyal little wife 
whom he loved so well, took sick and died. 
Davy struggled on a while with the aid of his 
brother, but he felt that his children needed a 
mother. So he chose the widow of a comrade 
who had served with him in the war, and 
together they founded a new home on Shoal 
Creek, in the extreme southern part of Ten- 
nessee, about eighty miles from the little cabin 
on Bean's Creek. 

This place was a short way from the eastern 
boundary of a section which had recently been 
purchased from the Chickasaw Indians. 

There was no law or order there when Da\y 

92 



DAVID CROCKETT 93 

and his family arrived, but as more people 
moved out from other settlements, and many 
outlaws fled across the border, it became neces- 
sary to establish some system of law. So the 
people got together and appointed magistrates, 
for enforcing the restrictions that were neces- 
sary, and Davy Crockett was chosen to be a 
justice of the peace. Davy knew no law, but 
he had a keen sense of right and wrong; 
his decisions were always just, and his fellow 
settlers accepted them. Although he could not 
write well enough to sign his name when he was 
appointed, Davy practiced constantly until he 
was able to make a creditable showing. 

He was elected colonel of a regiment by his 
admiring neighbors, and this was followed, in 
1821, by election to the state legislature. On 
his return from Nashville, where the legisla- 
ture met, Davy found his grist mill in 
ruins, because of a freshet, and decided to 
have a look at the Obion River region, which 
he had heard of as a place abounding in game. 
It was in this part of the country that Davy, 
Abram Henry, and Davy's son found them- 
selves, after tramping a hundred and fifty 
miles through the wilderness. 



94 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

One morning the exploring party were on 
their way at dawn. 

"Look, Father," cried the boy, after they 
had proceeded for some time in silence. 
"There's a tree split in half, and each half is on 
a different side of that big hole." 

"That's a queer thing, now," replied Davy. 
"I reckon that's the work o' some o' them earth- 
quakes I've heard about; if it wa'nt the work o' 
the first one itself." 

"What first one. Father?" 

"Why, I reckon we're mighty near the heart 
o' that wild country they call the ^Shakes'," 
explained Davy. "Long about ten years ago, 
Tecumseh, chief o' the Shawnees, had a quarrel 
with some of the southern Indians, about goin' 
to war with the whites. That was the very war 
your dady was in," he told the boy. "Well, 
when Tecumseh went away, he said that he 
would stamp on the ground, and houses would 
fall. I don't know whether he stamped or not, 
but anyhow long about this time there were 
earthquakes along the Mississippi. A whole 
town disappeared — that was New Madrid, and 
the river overflowed its banks and made new 
lakes. Reelfoot Lake, which I reckon is fifty 



DAVID CROCKETT 95 

miles or so from where we are now, appeared 
at that time. Where a great forest of pine had 
stood one day, there was a lake fifty miles long 
the next, and the tops o' some of the tallest 
trees were showin' above the water." 

"Do they have earthquakes now?" asked the 
boy, regarding the landscape fearfully. 

Davy was undisturbed. "Oh, now and 
then," he said. "But they don't do any damage 
to speak of now. These here harricanes lyin' 
everywhere about are the work o' these shakes." 

Abram and the young boy could well believe 
it. The country through which they were now 
passing was almost impenetrable in spots, large 
forest trees lay twisted and tangled with each 
other, and covered with dense underbrush that 
had sprung up since the monarchs of the 
wilderness had been torn from the earth. The 
region was wilder than any Davy had ever 
seen, and he realized why the Indians feared to 
rear their wigwams there. For many years the 
region had been uninhabited, a fact which ac- 
counted for the great abundance of game 
which appeared as they made their way on 
and on through the underbrush. 

"I hear as how the Indians are takin' up 



96 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

this place as a huntin' ground again," ob- 
served Abram, "and I reckon it's a good 
huntin' ground — all o' that. Thar, Davy," he 
added, as they came into a somewhat open 
space, "thar's the very spot for yo're home." 

Davy slapped Abram on the back. "'That's 
the spot!" he cried delightedly. The place 
which lay before them was indeed the embodi- 
ment of all that Davy had stipulated was 
necessary to his comfort. They were on a high 
bank, beneath which the Obion River wound a 
tortuous way; the little plateau would need 
but scant clearing, and the wilderness rose 
solidly at their backs. 

After spending considerable time in admira- 
tion of the site, Davy announced that they'd 
best be making a call upon their neighbors. 
He knew that a family named Owens lived in 
the vicinity, and judged that their cabin was 
still about seven miles away, for he had been 
given directions before he left the settlement 
at Shoal Creek. 

"Might as well hobble the horse out to graze 
until we get back," he announced, suiting the 
action to the word. Then securing a pole, he 
led the way to the river, for the Owens' cabin 



DAVID CROCKETT 97 

was on the other side. It was late in spring, 
and the Obion was in flood; it had overflowed 
its banks for a half mile on both shores. 

"Looks cold," said Davy, pausing on the 
brink, and stepping gingerly into the water. 
"It is cold," he added, "but I reckon we'll just 
have to take to it like so many beavers." 

Thereupon he plunged ahead, feeling with 
his pole as he went, to get the depth, and the 
others followed. The going was extremely 
slippery and uncertain. Davy put his pole too 
far ahead, and the next instant he was standing 
in water up to his neck. 

"Shucks, now," he cried, "who'd have 
thought there was a hole plumb in the middle 
of this meadow?" 

He was more careful after that, and when 
they reached other sloughs, as they did many 
times after, he took his tomahawk and cut down 
small trees, which he laid across the hole, and 
used as bridges. Frequently the boy, being 
smaller than the other two, had to swim where 
his father and Abram were able to wade. 

The first half mile accomplished, Davy per- 
ceived from the rush of the water that they 
were standing on the edge of the river's chan- 



98 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

nel. A large tree had fallen into the water 
from the other side, but it did not reach across. 
However, there was another tree on the side of 
the travelers. 

"I wonder if I can fell that, so's to reach the 
other?" asked Davy, eyeing the distance doubt- 
fully. 

"Well, Davy, I reckon if anybody can do 
that, you can," returned Abram, who had the 
greatest admiration for Davy's hardiness. 

Thereupon they set to work with Davy's 
tomahawk at the tree trunk, taking turns at 
hacking away until it was nearly ready to fall. 
Then Davy took charge exclusively, and he 
made every blow of his ax tell. As good luck 
would have it, the tree fell in the right place, 
and formed just the bridge they needed to 
bring them to the other tree. 

But they were not by any means out of the 
water when they reached the far side of the 
river channel. As on the opposite bank, the 
stream had overflowed, in many places to a 
great depth, and all the performance had to be 
gone over with. They tried for firm footing; 
they stumbled again and again; they waded 
when they could and swam when they had to, 



DAVID CROCKETT 99 

and at last sighted dry land. It was as wel- 
come as ever the coast to a mariner, after a 
long sea voyage. 

Now they set off briskly along the old 
Indian trail that wound through the woods. It 
was not much further to the Owens' cabin, 
Davy was sure. 

"Here, Sonny, take my hand," he said to the 
boy, as he climbed over a pile of brush, and 
turned back to aid his son, following in his foot- 
steps. The boy did so, and Davy was startled 
to find the hand was burning hot. He glanced 
at him sharply, and found he was shaking with 
a chill. 

"Now, now, this will never do," said Davy, 
in distress, "No time for fever now. Sonny." 
But his heart was very anxious, though the 
words were light, and it was with the greatest 
relief that he saw at last the Owens' home 
straight ahead. Mr. Owens, whom Davy 
knew, and several other men were just leaving 
the cabin. Upon seeing the three drenched 
and bedraggled wanderers, they stopped in 
surprise. When Davy was recognized, Mr. 
Owens welcomed him and his companions, and 
at once the whole party returned to the cabin. 



100 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

Mrs. Owens bustled forward at their en- 
trance. 

"My, my!" she exclaimed, like the good, 
motherly soul she was, "whatever did you go 
and get your deaths of cold for ? Heap up the 
iire, Father, and let's get these folks het up 
right away." 

Overflowing with sjmipathy and kindness, 
she offered the men dry clothing and warm 
food, and took Davy's son completely under 
her wing. He was wrapped in blankets, plied 
with hot drinks, and fussed over until Davy's 
heart nearly burst with gratitude, for his old- 
est son was the apple of his eye. 

"Your kindness to my little boy does me ten 
times as much good as anything you can do 
for me, ma'am," he told her, whole-heartedly. 

The men with Mr. Owens, Davy discovered, 
were boatmen. They had brought a flat-bot- 
tomed boat up the Obion from the Mississippi, 
and were bound for McLemore's Bluff, a point 
a hundred miles further on the river, although 
only thirty by land, as the river was continually 
winding. The crew were to receive a bonus of 
five hundred dollars if they landed their 
boatload of articles for trade at this point, as it 



DAVID CROCKETT 101 

was to be a proof that the river could be navi- 
gated that far. The whole party now hung 
around the cabin until after supper, when 
Da\y and Abram went down to the boat to 
spend the night, leaving Davy's boy under the 
care of Mrs. Owens. 

Morning found the river much lower than it 
had been the day before, and although the boat 
got along as far as the "harricane," Mr. Owens 
had mentioned, it was discovered that there was 
not sufficient water to float the boat across the 
great mass of trees that had blown down, chok- 
ing the river from shore to shore. 

"Can't get through here to-day, boys," ob- 
served Da\^ after several unsuccessful at- 
tempts to get by had been made. "Got to wait 
for rain now. You fellows might as well come 
down to my site and help me slap up a cabin." 

The boatmen good-naturedly agreed to this, 
and Davy and Mr. Owens led the way to the 
little plateau seven miles down the river. 
While a couple of the men busied themselves 
with smoothing down a space of fifteen by 
twenty feet which would serve as the floor, the 
rest were in the forest, choosing straight- 
trunked trees, felling them with their sharp 



102 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

axes and cutting them into logs of suitable 
length. They notched the logs at the ends, and 
dragging them to the selected spot, began to 
pile them up to make the walls. Mr. Owens 
had brought along his auger; with this holes 
were bored in the logs which had been cut 
through on one side of the cabin, in order to 
make a door. This space was about three feet 
wide, and split logs were fastened lengthwise 
against the cut ends by means of wooden pegs, 
hammered into the auger holes. The roof was 
soon in place ; long poles were laid on top, and 
lashed in place with deerskin thongs. Over 
these spht pieces of log and heavy bark were 
laid. A window was made in the same fashion 
as the door, and an opening at one end was left 
for the chimney. This was constructed last, of 
logs piled up outside; the fireplace inside was 
formed by slabs of stone laid at the sides and 
back. Cracks and openings were now chinked 
up with clay, and Davy's new home was com- 
plete. The men all returned to the boat, Davy 
with them, and he bargained to go with them 
to their landing place, in return for some sup- 
plies — four barrels of meal, one of salt, ten 
gallons of spirits, and a piece of bacon. With 



DAVID CROCKETT 103 

these he stocked his cabin, and sent Abram and 
his son to stay there until he returned. 

It rained a bit that night, and next morning 
the boatmen decided to try their luck once 
more. Armed with long poles, with which they 
pushed the boat along when it would have 
stopped in the sluggish stream, they reached 
the "harricane" again, and finding it still im- 
passable, stopped for the night. At daylight 
Davy rose, announcing that he was going to 
kill a deer while they were waiting for a flood 
to carry them over the obstruction. 

With his rifle in his hand, Davy set off in 
high spirits. 

"This is sure a game country, anyways," he 
murmured to himself, as he brought down a 
splendid buck before he had gone many paces 
into the wilderness. He slung the deer across 
his shoulders and started back to the boat. 

"Hello, a herd of elks!" he cried, stopping 
suddenly in his tracks. The trail was there, 
plain enough, evidently a whole herd had 
passed a short time before. Davy had never 
had much experience with elks; they had fled 
into deeper recesses long before he had learned 
to use the rifle in his early home. He promptly 



104 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

hung his deer in a tree, where it would be safe 
from prowling animals, and set out on the elks' 
trail. 

"Well, I'll be shot — this is sl game country!" 
he commented under his breath a moment later, 
as two more very large and splendid bucks 
appeared before his eyes. He pulled the trig- 
ger, and one of the animals dropped where it 
stood. The other, apparently grief-stricken 
for the fate of its companion, refused to take to 
flight, but stood beside the lifeless form. 
Hastily reloading, Davy brought down the 
loyal creature. The two bodies he hung on a 
limb, as he had done the first one, and contin- 
ued on the trail of the elks. 

It was long after midday before he had a 
sight of the elks, but before he came within 
shooting distance, they dashed off. Un- 
daunted, Davy kept up the chase until evening 
was coming on, when he discovered that he was 
almost faint from hunger. 

"Halloa — halloa — halloa!" cried Davy into 
the twilight. 

"Halloa!" echoed the woods in answer. 

"The consarned flat-bottom's got off, and 
no mistake," cried Davy. He was very much 



DAVID CROCKETT 105 

worn out, very hungry and exceedingly anx- 
ious to spend the night on board the boat, and 
not in the depths of the lonely forest. He 
fired his gun, and an answering report came 
back from the distance. 

It was dark by this time, and Davy was 
almost too tired to move. But he set out to 
crawl along the "harricane," through briers 
and brambles and berry bushes, all growing 
over the fallen and half- submerged timber in a 
way that made it a torment to try to get along. 

"No soundin's for me to-night," he told him- 
self firmly. With that he raised his voice once 
more, and the boatmen, who were not far off, 
heard him and sent out a skiff to search for 
him. Guiding them with his voice, they soon 
located the torn and bruised hunter, and 
brought him back to the boat. 

"I reckon I want sewin' up, all over," ob- 
served the weary deer-slayer, as he tried to 
swallow the food they brought him. "And I'ni 
so tired I can hardly work my jaws." 

He slept as soundly as man ever did that 
night. 



X 

DAVY PEEP ARES FOR CHRISTMAS 

"Davy!" called Mrs. Crockett, "Davy!" 

Striding along several paces ahead, with his 
rifle on his shoulder, and guiding a pack-horse 
with one hand, Davy was marching through 
the autumn woods, singing at the top of his 
voice. It took several repetitions of Mrs. 
Crockett's call before he heard her. 

"Stop singing a minute, for mercy's sake, 
Davy!" she said then. "Anybody'd think you 
had something to sing for, to hear you. Come 
back here and fix this pack; it's slipping." 

Abandoning his own horse to the care of 
one of the children, Davy retraced his steps 
along the narrow trail. His wife, w^ho was 
leading the other pack-horse, added an unnec- 
essary touch of color to the riotous woods, in 
her dress of homemade linsey, dyed bright 
scarlet. 

Davy eyed her in great surprise. 

106 



DAVID CROCKETT 107 

"Why, Mother," he said, "you're not gettin' 
tired o' trampin', are you?" 

"Oh, Davy, it's been a long, long way," she 
sighed. "I don't feel as if I could stand an- 
other night in the woods — especially if it rains. 
It looks cloudy, too." 

"Well, now, you won't have to," returned 
Davy cheerfully. "We're within a couple of 
dozen paces of the house this minute," and as 
he adjusted the pack, he took his wife by the 
arm. 

The hazy gold of the day was fading as the 
little procession reached its destination. The 
"couple of dozen paces" had stretched them- 
selves out until even Davy's blithe spirit began 
to droop. A hundred and fifty miles through 
the wilderness, over hills and prairies and 
streams was not a journey to be attempted by 
the faint-hearted. 

"Here we are. Mother!" cried Davy, who 
had taken the lead again. "See our golden 
ears a-wavin' in the breeze?" He seized the 
youngest child in his great arms and swung 
him above his head. 

"Well, well, you've got a comfortable sight 
o' corn, Davy," remarked his wife. "It grew 



108 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

better'n I'd think, with no care or anything." 
"It's fine, rich soil," explained Davy. 
"After I'd helped those fellows with the boat to 
land their stuff up the river at McLemore's 
Bluff, one o' them came back with me and 
helped me clear the land. We just cut down 
the trees and set fire to the field, and then we 
got sharp sticks and made holes for the corn. 
It didn't take but mighty little time, and now 
you see we've got corn enough for the winter 
growing between the charred stumps." 

Mrs. Crockett was glad of that. Starting 
life afresh in an unbroken country, many miles 
from the little settlement she had called home, 
was a difficult task at best. 

"Here, Sonny, we'll lug this plunder inside 
first," said Davy to one of the boys when the 
tired horses stopped before the cabin door. 
The blankets, the few rough table utensils, 
some clothing, and the loom constituted the 
household "plunder" which the Crockett fam- 
ily had considered necessary to bring, and very 
little time was required to set the wheels of 
domestic machinery running. Davy and his 
boys went to work the following morning on 
furniture for the cabin. A table was a neces- 



DAVID CROCKETT 109 

sity, but was provided easily enough after a 
few hours' labor. A good-sized tree was 
felled, and the trunk split into half. These 
halves were split again, lengthwise, so as to 
make two rough planks, which were laid side 
by side and fastened together with wooden 
pegs, driven through the two joined edges. 
Hickory stakes driven into holes made by an 
auger formed the legs, and completed what 
was a serviceable table, at least. Davy also 
went the length of providing a few chairs for 
his family, and fashioned a bedstead, making 
the frame of the hewn logs, and in place of the 
modern spring, roping in the open space with 
deerskin thongs. But further than this Davy 
would not go; the children of the family were 
provided with bearskins for couches, and in- 
deed, they had never known any other fashion 
of "going to bed." 

It was now late October, and for several 
weeks Davy, having gathered in his corn, de- 
voted himself to providing his family with 
meat for the winter. Deer and bear were 
plentiful; in fact, the whole countryside 
swarmed with all kinds of wild animals, except 
buffaloes, which had departed further west. 



110 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

As Christmas drew near, the Crockett family 
rejoiced in a plentiful larder of dried and 
jerked and salted meat, sufficient corn to last 
if used with care, and fine warm clothing of 
deerskin, fringed and brightly colored, or 
rough linsey, woven and fashioned by Mrs. 
Crockett herself. But Davy's stock of powder 
was running low. 

"Here we are in the mouth o' Christmas," 
observed Davy one morning, "and I haven't 
enough powder to fire off my Christmas guns." 

"It's a pity you didn't get that keg of pow- 
der your brother-in-law brought out with him," 
returned Mrs. Crockett, who was at work at 
her loom. The brother-in-law referred to had 
lately moved out to the same region, and built 
his home on the opposite side of the river, about 
six miles west of the Crockett cabin. 

"It's never too late to mend," retorted Davy, 
"I'll go after it this verj^ day." 

"What! With the ground covered with 
snow, and the river flooded with slush? You'd 
have to walk a mile in icy water up to your 
waist, to get across." 

Davy rose and went to the cabin door, where 
he stood looking out at the wintry scene. 



DAVID CROCKETT 111 

"I've no powder to hunt with," he said, after 
a bit. * 'What's the good of living in a game 
country if you've no powder? Besides we'd 
starve without I kill more varmints. The dried 
stuff won't last all winter." 

"Might as well starve as for you to get your 
death," answered his wife. "You'll freeze or 
get drowned, and where'U I be then, with all 
the children?" 

"Shucks, Mother. I can take care o' my- 
self," and Davy began to lace on a pair of 
deerskin moccasins. Making a bundle of some 
extra clothing, including shoes and stockings, 
he fastened his powder horn, with the remains 
of his powder, around his waist, picked up his 
riile, and turned a bright smile of farewell upon 
his family. 

"Take care o' yourselves," he bade them, 
"and when I get back we'll have a bang-up 
Christmas celebration." 

Outside, Davy found that the snow was 
about four inches deep — just enough to make 
the going wet and cold. It was a quarter of a 
mile to the river, and Davy was not reassured 
when he saw it nearby. 

"Looks like the ocean I saw down Baltimore 



112 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

way," he thought, as he waded out. Over the 
channel of the river lay a huge log, which pro- 
vided easy crossing, but at the other end Davy 
was forced to take to the water again. He 
waded on until he came to a deep slough, which 
he had known of before ; it was wider than the 
river itself, and he had often crossed it on a 
log; now the log was nowhere in sight. But 
Davy knew where it must lie, because when the 
water was lower there was a little island close 
beside it, with a sapling growing there, and 
the sapling was still visible for about six feet. 

"Now what shall I do?" he meditated, star- 
ing at the sapling, which was quite out of his 
reach. He had sounded the water with a pole 
and found that it was a dozen feet in depth. 

"Never saw so many sloughs before in all 
my life," said Davy, whose pleasure in wading 
icy streams was vanishing with every step. 
"Now I wonder can I make that floating log?" 

A floating log is a precarious foothold at any 
time; for a man already chilled to the bone, 
whose feet have become nerveless lumps, it is 
next to impossible to leap upon it and step 
lightly along its surface. But Davy was equal 
to mounting the bobbing log, although he could 



DAVID CROCKETT 113 

not control its tendency to roll over. By the 
time he was well in the middle of the slough, 
with deep water all around him, the ancient 
tree trunk was listing badly. Next moment 
Davy found himself up to the neck in an ice- 
bath. With the instinct of the woodsman, he 
had flung up his arms, holding aloft his rifle 
and his extra clothing as he fell, and now he 
sputtered on for several yards, still with his 
hands high above his head. Without attempt- 
ing to regain his footing on the treacherous 
log which had turned completely over, he 
struggled on until he found himself on safe 
ground at last, with no more water to cross. 

"Five mile to go yet," thought Davy, his 
teeth knocking together and his dripping gar- 
ments stiffening in the chilling air. With un- 
bending fingers he started to pull off the wet 
clothes, his feet buried in the freezing snow, 
and a sharp wind cutting at his wet skin. It 
was with great difficulty that he managed to 
get himself into his dry clothing, and he hung 
the now frozen garments he had taken off on 
the limb of a tree, to be picked up again on 
his way home. 

"Now for a good, stiff run to get the old 



114 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

blood goin'," he thought confidently. But, to 
his surprise, he found that he could not run; 
the best he could do was to take a step of about 
six inches' length. Davy was more nearly 
frozen than he had ever been in his life. He 
had a dogged determination, however, and he 
continued to put one foot before the other, 
however slowly and painfully ; despite the fact 
that his whole being cried out for rest — ^rest in 
the snow. On he made his way, his grim will 
battling with his nerveless body; over the 
unbroken snow, through the silent, whitened 
woods. Gradually the use of his limbs re- 
turned to him, and he went on a httle faster; 
then a little faster still; but the five miles 
stretched interminably, and evening had come 
before there was any sign of a habitation. At 
last a faint light showed in the distance ; Davy 
was not quite certain that his eyes were not 
deceiving him ; then he made out the dark out- 
lines of his brother's cabin, and the dim light 
filtering through the tiny window at the side. 
With the barrel of his rifle he rapped on the 
cabin door, in a final effort that left him sway- 
ing against the door jamb. 

"Well, I'll be shot I" exclaimed his brother. 



DAVID CROCKETT 115 

opening the door and just saving Davy from 
falling inside. He assisted him over the sill 
and to a seat at the fire. Seeing that Davy- 
was exhausted, he busied himself for a while 
with bringing him round. Davy's wet shoes 
were pulled from his feet, and warm blankets 
were thrown around him. Supper was just 
ready, and after a few swallows of hot soup 
Davy's stupor began to lighten. 

"What possessed you to go swimmin' a day 
like this?" inquired the owner of the house. "I 
never knew you were so all-fired fond o' baths, 
Davy." 

Davy grinned in returning animation. In 
short phrases he sketched the day's experience 
for the family, explaining that he wanted pow- 
der to fire off his Christmas guns, and didn't 
feel as if it would be Christmas without that 
form of celebration. His brother was amazed 
at what he called Davy's foolhardiness, but as 
he talked he kept Davy's plate supplied with 
warm and savory food, and Davy cared little 
for anyone's opinion of his conduct. 

Next morning, he woke to the music of an 
icy gale playing round the little lonely cabin. 
He lay and listened to the shrieks and moans 



116 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

of the winter wind, snugly wrapped in bear- 
skins, with his feet to the glowing fire. 

"Reckon that there bath didn't do me no 
harm," he observed later, rising from his com- 
fortable bundle of fur. He stretched his tall 
frame and tossed one of the children above his 
head to prove it. 

"Well, you can't be goin' home to-day," 
responded his brother. "Just put your nose 
outside that door and see how piercing cold 
it is." 

It was bitterly cold, as Davy himself ad- 
mitted. 

"I might as well stay here for a day, and 
maybe the water '11 be frozen over," he said. 
"But I'll take a turn in the woods, anyhow, if 
I can't go home. It's a long time since I had 
any powder to spare, and I'd kind o' like the 
feel o' shootin' somethin' to-day." 

Despite the protests of his host, Davy 
departed, and was soon out of sight in the 
depth of the wind-swept forest. He returned 
in a couple of hours, bowed beneath the weight 
of two deer, and thoroughly satisfied with the 
day's work. That night the wind grew colder 
still ; it whirled the snow about the little cabin, 



DAVID CROCKETT 117 

and fiercely assaulted the well-chinked spaces 
between the logs. 

"It would be plain foolishness for you to try 
to get out to-day," Davy's brother assured him 
in the morning. "The river'U be frozen over, 
but not hard enough to bear you." 

Davy admitted the truth of that. He went 
out hunting again, and pursued a bear all day, 
but was not able to catch up with it. The fol- 
lowing day blew in to the tune of a falling 
temperature, that impelled his host to beg 
Da^y not to attempt departure in such bitter 
weather. But Davy's patience was at an end. 

"I reckon I'll be goin', and all the blasts in 
creation won't stop me," he drawled. "My 
family's without meat, and I'll get home to 'em 
or die a-tryin'." 

In vain the others pointed out that there 
must be sufficient dried meat at home to last 
for some days to come; that the water would 
be frozen solid in a few days, or fall back into 
its natural channel. Davy couldn't wait. With 
his keg of powder and his rifle, he departed as 
cheerfully as if no dangers lay in his path. His 
brother watched him go, with long, easy strides, 
until the forest wall shut him from sight. 



118 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

From the top of a hill Davy saw the river 
below him, and it looked a sheet of ice as far 
as he could see. The five mile tramp through 
the forest, cold though it was, had only served 
to send his blood racing through his veins, for 
he was hardy through and through. Cautiously 
he stepped out on the frozen surface of the 
river, but he had gone only a few steps when 
the ice broke. Then for a while he tried break- 
ing it with his tomahawk ahead of him, so that 
he could wade. 

"It's a sight better than thinkin' I'm safe 
and then gettin' thrown in every other step," 
he assured himself. He waded on until he 
reached the treacherous log that had over- 
turned with him on his former trip ; now it was 
frozen tightly in place, and he could make use 
of it with impunity. All went well now, until 
he came to the deep slough where he had 
crossed on the submerged log. Here the cur- 
rent was swift, and the water could not freeze. 
Davy found the log, and crossed on it as be- 
fore, balancing in several feet of icy water. 
He climbed the sapling against which he had 
lodged the forked tree trunk, and leaving his 
rifle in the tree, he crawled along the lodged 



DAVID CROCKETT 119 

sapling with the keg of powder, and deposited 
it on the far side. Then he returned for his 
rifle, and crept back once more. By this time 
he was so nearly frozen that further effort 
seemed impossible; but he struggled through 
the rest of the water, keeping his gun high and 
his powder dry. His stiffened fingers could 
hardly unloosen his rifle when he at last reached 
the shelter of his own cabin. 

"Mercy sakes, Davy!" cried his wife, when 
he opened the door. "We'd given you up for 
dead." 

"I'm not quite dead, but mighty nigh it," 
returned Davy, speaking with difficulty, "but 
I've got my powder, and that's what I went 
for." 



XI 

BATTLING WITH THE MISSISSIPPI 

*'That makes thirty thousand staves we've 
got ready/' said Davy to his helpers. All day 
they had been busy bundling up the split oak 
logs that were to load Davy's two boats, bound 
for New Orleans. 

"We'll be able to get off in the morning, no 
doubt o' that," he added. He edged near to 
the blazing fire about which all hands were 
gathered, and lay contentedly staring up at 
the starry sky. 

Davy was feeling prosperous. His pro- 
posed venture in lumber was about to turn out 
well, he believed ; with the boats and their loads 
ready, and the broad river upon which to float 
them down to market, he felt that failure was 
out of the question. Many of the men who had 
helped to build the boats and cut the staves 
were determined to accompany Davy on his 
trip, and everybody was looking forward to a 

120 



DAVID CROCKETT 121 

good night's rest in preparation for the start 
next day. 

"You're the greatest bear hunter in the 
country, ain't you, Davy?" observed one of the 
men presently. "How many bears 'd you-all 
kill this last year?" 

"A hundred and five," said Davy promptly. 
"Killed forty-seven of 'em last month alone." 

"Great snakes!" exclaimed the other. 
"That's some record. Tell us one o' your ex- 
citin' adventures, Davy. You must've had a 
heap." 

Davy considered. "Well — there was one 
about a week after New Year's ; that was some 
lively hunt. I'd just got home the week be- 
fore, havin' killed fifteen bears right out this 
way. But a neighbor o' mine, whose name is 
McDaniel, was out o' meat and wanted me to 
go along back with him and hunt some more. 
So, not likin' to be done out o' any good bear 
fights, I went along," grinned Davy. 

"I reckon there aren't many you miss," put 
in one of the listeners. 

"Not if I can help it. Well, the first day 
out we got three. Next morning I left my 
son at the camp, for he had come along o' us. 



122 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

and McDaniel and I started on toward the 
harricane. When we'd gone about a mile, we 
started a very large bear, but we got along 
mighty slow on account of the cracks in the 
earth occasioned by the earthquakes. We, 
however, made out to keep in hearing of the 
dogs for about three miles, and then we come 
to the harricane. Here we had to quit our 
horses, as Old Nick himself couldn't have got 
through it. By this time several of my dogs 
had got tired and come back; but we went 
ahead on foot for some little time in the harri- 
cane, when we met a bear comin' straight to 
us — not more'n twenty or thirty yards off. I 
started my tired dogs after him, and McDan- 
iel went after them, while I went on to where 
my other dogs were. I had seen the track o' 
the bear they were after, and I know'd he was 
a screamer. I followed on to about the mid- 
dle o' the harricane, but my dogs pursued him 
so close that they made him climb an old stump 
twenty feet high. I got in shootin' distance, 
and fired, but bein' in such a flutter from run- 
nin', I couldn't hold steady; however, I broke 
his shoulder, and he fell. McDaniel come up 
just then havin' followed my trail, and I left 



DAVID CROCKETT 123 

him to butcher the bear, and went after our 
horses, and brought them as near as the na- 
ture o' the ease would allow. I got our bags, 
and after we'd skinned the bear, and fleeced 
off the fat, we carried it to the horses in several 
loads, and when we started back we had a 
heavy pack of it on each one. We went on 
till about sunset, when I thought we must be 
near our camp, so I hollered and my son an- 
swered me, and we moved in that direction. 
Just then I heard my dogs make a warm start 
again; I jumped off my horse and gave him 
to my friend, and said I'd follow them. He 
went on to camp and I went after my dogs, 
runnin' with all my might, until night come on. 
The woods were rough and hilly, and all cov- 
ered over with cane. 

**Now I had to go more slowly, and kept 
fallin' over logs and into the cracks made by 
earthquakes, so I was scared I'd break my gun. 
After three miles or so I came to a big creek, 
and waded it. It was knee-deep and mighty 
cold, but I was all wet with sweat from run- 
nin', and didn't feel it much. On the other 
side I listened for my dogs, and found they 
were barkin' all the same in the one place. 



124 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

so I know'd they mustVe treed him. I pushed 
on in the direction o' the noise, till I found a 
hill ahead too steep to climb, so I backed and 
went down the creek till I come to a hollow, 
and took up that hill I got to a place where I 
could climb the hill. 

"I got to the dogs right after that, and 
found they'd treed a bear in a large forked 
poplar, and it was settin' in the fork. I could 
see the lump, but not plain enough to shoot 
good, as there was no moon, so I set to huntin' 
dry brush to make a light, but I could find 
none. But I could find that the ground was 
torn mightily to pieces by big cracks. 

"Finally I thought I could shoot near 
enough by guess, so I pointed at the lump and 
fired away. But the bear clomb up higher, and 
got out on a limb. Then I loaded up and fired 
again, but the old fellow didn't move. While 
I was loadin' for a third shot, the first thing 
I know'd, the bear was down among my dogs, 
and they were fightin' all around me. I had 
my big butcher knife in my belt, and I had a 
pair o' dressed buckskin breeches on. So I 
stood determined to defend myself as well as 
I could. I stood there for some time, and now 



DAVID CROCKETT 125 

and then I could see a white dog I had, but the 
rest of 'em, and the bear, I couldn't see at all. 
They kept on fightin', sometimes in three feet 
o' me, but at last the bear got down in one o' 
the cracks that the earthquake had made in the 
ground, about four feet deep, and I could tell 
the bitin' end o' him by the hoUerin' o' my 
dogs. So I took my gun and pushed the muz- 
zle about, till I thought I had it against the 
main part of his body, and fired; but it was 
only the fleshy part of his foreleg. With this, 
he jumped out o' the crack, and they all had 
another hard fight around me. Then the bear 
was forced into the crack again." 

"Too bad it was so miserable dark," ob- 
served one of the audience. 

"It was sure dark," continued Davy. "I 
had laid down my gun and now I started hunt- 
in' for it, and while huntin' I got hold of a 
pole, and decided to punch the bear with that. 
When I'd punch, the dogs'd jump in on him, 
but he'd bite, and they'd jump out. I con- 
cluded, as he was takin' punchin' so patiently, 
that he might lie still enough for me to get 
down in the crack, and feel around till I could 
get the right place to dig him with my butcher. 



126 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

I jumped in, and my dogs got down before 
me, and the bear kept his head toward them. I 
got along up to him easy, and felt for his shoul- 
der with my hand. Then I made a lunge with 
my long knife, and stuck him through the 
heart at which he just sank down, and I 
crawled out in a hurry. In a little while my 
dogs crawled out too and seemed satisfied, 
which was the way they've always had o' tell- 
in' me they had finished him. 

"By this time I was beginnin' to feel the 
cold, but I managed to get my bear out o' the 
crack after many hard trials, and I butchered 
him, and laid down to try to sleep. But my fire 
was very bad, and I couldn't find anything that 
would burn well; my leather breeches and 
everything else I had on were wet and frozen. 
Then I concluded I'd freeze if I didn't warm 
myself in some way. So I got up, and hollered 
awhile, and then I would just jump up and 
down with all my might, and throw myself in 
all sorts o' motions. But all this wouldn't do, 
and my blood was all the time gettin' colder, 
and the chills were comin' all over me. I was 
so tired I could hardly walk, but I thought I'd 
do the best I could to save my life, and then, 



DAVID CROCKETT 127 

if I died, nobody would be to blame. So I 
went to a tree about two feet through, and not 
a limb on it for thirty feet, and I would climb 
up it to the limbs, and then lock my arms to- 
gether around it, and slide down to the bot- 
tom again. This made the insides o' my arms 
feel mighty good and warm again. I kept it 
up till morning, and how often I clomb up and 
slid down my tree I don't know, but I reckon 
at least a hundred times. When I got back 
to camp McDaniel and my son were just giv- 
in' me up for lost." 

"Sufferin' wildcats, Davy!" cried the man 
next to him, "I reckon I wouldn't gone down 
after that bear — not if I could get all the bears 
in the woods." 

"Oh, well," replied Davy, "it's always been 
my way to go ahead once I get started on a 
thing." 

It was now growing late, and everybody de- 
cided that the time for sleep had come. They 
wrapped themselves warmly in blankets and 
skins, and soon were asleep, and Davy, at least, 
dreamed rosy dreams of success on the morrow, 
when he would "go ahead" with his boats. 

Early in the morning all hands were at work. 



128 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

doing the last minor things that always have 
to be done, but everything was soon pro- 
nounced ready. The boats were built of strong 
timber, were caulked and pitched, and each 
was fitted with a small hatchway house over 
the entrance of the cabin underneath it. Each 
boat had a well, so that the water that leaked 
in could be baled out, and each was steered with 
a long oar, at the stern, sometimes assisted by 
poles. 

"All ready, boys?" called Davy, when he had 
seen to all the details, and was waiting to push 
off. 

"All ready," the joyful shout came back, 
and next moment the two boats were floating 
gently down the Obion. 

"Clear sailin', eh, boys?" cried Davy, seeing 
himself already wealthy from the results of his 
project. It was not far to the place where the 
Obion joined the Mississippi, and soon the 
boats had turned into the great yellow flood, 
a mile wide, that rolled swiftly along in the 
exuberance of the early spring freshet. The 
great bare woods bordered the stream on either 
shore, broken here and there by gloomy, sod- 
den swamps, and the woodsmen, who had had 



DAVID CROCKETT 129 

little to do with water, were appalled at their 
situation, as they were called upon every min- 
ute to avoid islands and negotiate the various 
windings of the river. 

"This is the first time I ever see such a river," 
muttered Davy, who with a pole in his hand 
was helping the crew to pass a particularly dis- 
agreeable island. Davy in truth had never seen 
the Mississippi before. 

"There we go again!" cried one of the men, 
as he tried to keep his boat from bumping into 
the other, and failed, just as they had con- 
stantly failed to keep them apart. Davy was 
exasperated. 

"Here, we'll lash 'em together," he shouted 
above the uproar of the waters and the bawling 
of the men. 

Lashing made matters a little worse, if any- 
thing; the boats were now so unmanageable 
that steering was an impossibility. Everyone 
was stiff and sore and badly scared, but there 
was nothing to do but keep trying to guide the 
vessels down the river. Toward night they 
drew near to some boats from the Ohio, and 
when these landed for the night, Davy tried to 



130 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

land his outfit too. But his boats refused to 
be brought to a stop. 

"Better go on and run all night," shouted a 
man from one of the Ohio boats, and willy- 
nilly Davy took his advice, for he could do 
nothing else. 

They were now floating sideways, he real- 
ized, and the boat he was in was behind the 
other. Suddenly there was a rush of feet on 
the deck above, and Davy could hear the men 
pulling with all their might; before he could 
dash to the companionway there was a crash, 
as the boat rammed into an island and lodged 
broadside in a large raft like drift or timber. 
As soon as the boat struck, Davj^ dashed for 
the hatchway which came right through the top 
of the boat, and was the only way of getting 
out of the cabin, except for a small hole in the 
side, which the men had used to put their arms 
through in order to dip up water, before the 
boats had been lashed together. As he reached 
the hatchway, Davy was hurled back by a tor- 
rent of water, pouring through with all the 
strength of the river behind it. Moreover, the 
boat had careened madly, and now the hatch- 
way was turned down in such a way that it was 



DAVID CROCKETT 13f 

in vain that Davy strove to force his way 
against the raging torrent pouring headlong 
from above. 

"The hole in the side!" was the thought that 
flashed into his mind in his great danger, and 
he struggled to reach that. But it was too 
small. In desperation he stuck both his arms 
through, the water rising around him and 
already above his waist. 

"Pull me out or pull me in two!" he roared 
to some of the crew whom he could see just out- 
side. It was neck or nothing, and there was 
not a minute to lose. 

The men seized Davy's arms, and pulling 
with all the violence their sturdy frames could 
muster, they jerked him through the tiny aper- 
ture. 

"Jump in' painters!" he gasped, when he 
found himself sprawling on the driftwood with 
the rest of the crew, "I feel like a skinned rab- 
bit." 

Skinned he literally was ; he had been wear- 
ing a shirt with no coat when the crash came, 
and both the shirt and most of the skin on his 
back had been torn off; furthermore he was 
barefooted, as were two of the others. 



132 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

"There's nothin' to do but set here and wait 
for sunrise," one of the men observed presently, 
as they all settled themselves as comfortably 
as possible on the huge pile of driftwood which 
was edged against the little island. The boats, 
which had been riven apart from each other 
in the crash, now pursued their headlong way, 
undeterred by the water they had taken in, ex- 
cept for the fact that one at least was not float- 
ing rightside up. So much Davy saw dimly, 
as he sat and took stock of his numerous aches 
and smartings. 

"Them was sure wild boats," remarked one 
of the men; "I'm mighty glad to be on some- 
thin' that don't move." 

"I reckon I am too," said Davy, "even if 
I do look like a pretty cracklin' ever to get to 
Congress." (He had hopes of reversing his 
previous defeat at the polls when another 
election day should come around.) 

"We've lost all our loadin'," he mused later 
on, as they all sat waiting for the dawn, with 
the chill winds blowing over them. "We've 
lost all our clothes, too, 'cept what we've got 
on, but I've just had such a mighty marvelous 
escape that somehow I feel happier than I 



DAVID CROCKETT 133 

ever did before, just a-settin' here on this drift; 
I feel prime." 

As the sun rose they saw a boat coming down 
the river, and joyfully hailed her. One of the 
men stripped off his red shirt and waved it 
from a pole. The ship sent out a skiff and 
brought Davy and his men aboard, and car- 
ried them all down to Memphis. There Davy 
met a merchant whom he had known before, 
and this kind-hearted friend fitted out the 
whole party with hats, shoes, shirts and what 
money they needed. Thereupon the members 
of the crew parted, Davy and one of the men 
going to Natchez to see if they could learn 
anything of their runaway boats. They heard 
that one of them had been seen about fifty 
miles from where the crash occurred, and an 
effort had been made to land it, but without 
success. 

"I'm not surprised, knowin' the hard-head- 
edness o' them boats," declared Davy. "Fur- 
thermore, I haven't much mind to try any more 
boating." 

Leaving the mystery of the wild craft un- 
solved, he went home to the little cabin on the 
Obion. 



XII 

OFF FOR TEXAS 

Davy had not been misled by his dreams of 
a seat in Congress; the very smnmer after he 
had returned home in 1826, a failure at boat- 
ing, he offered to run for Congress again and 
his nomination was accepted. Now, Davy had 
no money with which to conduct a campaign, 
but he had a light heart, and a good friend 
who advanced him the little he needed to go 
about the district and make friends. At that 
time the people in the West and South had 
gro^vn restless under the legislation of what 
they called "silk stocking" men — men who had 
culture and refinement, rather than ability to 
make their way in the wilderness, as many of 
these southwestern people had had to do. Davy 
had been dubbed: "The man from the cane," 
and tales of his bear hunting, his fearless man- 
ner of expressing his opinions, and his poverty 
had gone through the whole nation, ever since 

134, 



DAVID CROCKETT 135 

his reelection to the state legislature from a 
district in which he was, at that time, practi- 
cally unknown. 

Davy caught the popular fancy. He had 
two opponents. Colonel Alexander, and Gen- 
eral William Arnold. At one place where 
the rival candidates were to address a meet- 
hig, Davy had to speak first. Colonel Alex- 
ander followed him, and when General 
Arnold spoke he occupied his time in explain- 
ing why Colonel Alexander should not be 
elected, entirely ignoring the fact that Davy 
was also a candidate. While he was speaking 
a large flock of guinea-hens came along, and 
made so much noise that the general was 
obliged to ask someone to shoo them away. As 
soon as General Arnold finished speaking, 
Davy jumped up on the stump, and in his 
merry way addressed his opponent : 

"Well, General, you are the first man I 
ever saw that knew the language of fowls. 
You had not the politeness even to allude to 
me in your speech. But when my little friends 
the guinea-hens came up, and began to holler : 
'Crockett, Crockett, Crockett!' you were un- 
generous enough to drive them all away." 



136 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

At this the crowd burst into roars of laugh- 
ter, for the guinea-hen's call does sound very 
much like "Crockett," and Davy knew that 
he had won the day. Repeated happenings of 
this sort won him the election, when the time 
came, for he beat his competitors by twenty- 
seven hundred votes. 

His motto: "Be sure you're right, then go 
ahead," became quoted from one end of the 
country to the other. 

Borrowing enough money to take him to 
Washington, Davy left behind him his native 
wilderness, and entered on a new life. The 
way of the politician he found highly enjoy- 
able, and rude and untrained as he was, he had 
a splendid brain, and in his new surroundings 
he began to blossom out in unexpected mental 
powers. With his hearty good nature and gen- 
erous ways, Davy could not help but be pop- 
ular, though his manners so smacked of the 
backwoods that many funny tales at his ex- 
pense went the rounds. One of them con- 
cerned his visit to President John Quincy 
Adams, and his subsequent attendance at a 
presidential dinner-party. A witty newspa- 
perman printed an account of this affair. 



DAVID CROCKETT 137 

which, it was claimed, was Davy's own story of 
the event. The article was reprinted in every 
newspaper in the United States, and Davy 
finally had to deny publicly that he had written 
any such story. 

All this laughter at Davy's expense served 
to keep him before the public eye, however, 
and he was the most talked-of man in the coun- 
try. When his term expired he was reelected. 
Meanwhile a new president had taken the 
chair, Andrew Jackson, whom Davy had first 
admired, when he came, as State's Attorney, 
to the lonely tavern kept by old John Crockett. 
He had served under him in the Creek War, 
and now he was called upon to serve under him 
in political life. But Davy was not a man who 
would allow his own interests to influence his 
actions, and when the President urged the re- 
moval of the Indian tribes from the lands east 
of the Mississippi, where many still lingered, 
Davy refused to back the measure. Turning 
against Jackson was at that time considered 
-ilmost traitorous, for the people were heart 
and soul for ^^Old Hickory." Davy felt the 
result of his opposition at the next election in 
1830, for he was defeated and had to return 



138 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

home. He spent the next two years on the 
Obion hunting bears, but political life still 
beckoned him, and he accepted the nomination 
and was again elected to Congress at the end 
of that time. He served from 1833 to 1835. 

But Davy was a real woodsman, and the 
constant strain of life in Washington began to 
tell upon his health. His doctors advised him 
to take a trip, and in obedience to their wishes, 
and a desire of his own to see the North and 
East, he decided to make a tour of the cities of 
Baltimore, Philadelphia, and New York and 
wind up with a visit to New England. His 
journey was one of the bright spots in his 
career. Everywhere the people came out in 
great crowds to meet him and cheer for him, 
and visions of becoming president began to fill 
his brain. 

The disappointment was all the keener then, 
when at the next election Davy found himself 
beaten out of his place in Congress. His rosy 
dreams toppled to the dust, and he returned 
to his little home. There he resumed his deer- 
skin hunting shirt, and took down "Old 
Betsey" from the wall. But hunting bears had 
lost its savor. 



DAVID CROCKETT 139 

"My country no longer requires my serv- 
ices," he told his wife sadly, one day. "I have 
made up my mind to go to Texas. I have a 
new row to hoe, a long and rough one, but 
come what will, I'll go ahead." 

Mrs. Crockett was grief-stricken, 

*'Texas!" she cried. "Full of Mexican cut- 
throats." 

"I'll help to beat 'em back," returned Davy. 
"Texas ought to be free of Mexican rule — it's 
full o' fightin' men, ready to take a jSghtin' 
chance. I'll cut out and quit the States until 
honest men shall have a chance to work their 
way to the head of the heap." 

Davy had made up his mind, and, as on 
many previous occasions, once he had decided 
to do a thing, that thing he would do. A few 
days later he Stood in the doorway of his lit- 
tle cabin, wearing a clean hunting-shirt and 
a new fox-skin cap with the tail hanging down 
behind. In his hand he carried a new "Betsey," 
which had been presented to him as a gift from 
the Philadelphians when he was visiting that 
city. 

It was a cold morning and a film of frost was 
smeared over the land around the little cabin. 



140 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

Davy looked at his wife and children standing, 
a silent group behind him, and felt a sensation 
around his eyelids that he had never known 
since the long ago day when he returned, a 
lanky boy of fifteen, to his father's tavern after 
two years of wandering. 

"It's freezin' outside," he said a trifle trem- 
ulously, "but I do believe there's some thawin' 
around my eyelids." 

With that he was off, following the winding 
course of the Obion. His little girl ran after 
him and stood watching until he turned and 
seeing her, waved a last farewell. The next 
moment the forest had closed upon him, and 
the little girl ran into the cabin with the tears 
streaming down her face. 

Traveling steadily southwestward, Davy 
found himself, after many weeks, on board a 
little steamboat writhing its way along the Red 
River, bound for Natchitoches, in Louisiana. 
No sooner were the paddle-wheels in motion 
than Davy observed a crowd of passengers 
eagerly gathered about something that he 
could not see, so he drew near to find out 
what was going on. Seated on a chest in the 
middle of tha crowd was a tall, lanky fellow. 



DAVID CROCKETT 141 

who was running a gambling game known as 
thimble-rig. 

"Who'll bet he can name the thimble with 
the pea under it?" he was asking as Davy- 
came up. 

One of the bystanders promptly bet a shill- 
ing that he could, and the lanky one shuffled 
the thimbles and the pea for a moment and 
then called upon the man to choose his thim- 
ble. When the man who was running the game 
lifted the thimble, there was no pea there, al- 
though the one who had made the bet had seen 
it plainly disappear beneath that particular 
thimble. Davy watched a while longer, and 
shilHngs continued to be bet and lost with un- 
abated zeal for some minutes. Finally Davy, 
who knew that the trick lay in the lanky fel- 
low's sleight of hand, placed a bet himself, 
but insisted on lifting the thimble. Of course, 
the pea was there, and the whole crowd burst 
into wild shouts of laughter. 

The disconsolate gambler, his occupation 
gone, sought out the man who had ruined his 
business. Davy, strongly opposed to gam- 
bling, seized the opportunity to give the stran- 
ger a piece of hi^ mind. 



142 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

"It's a burlesque on human nature," he told 
him, "that an able-bodied man with a full share 
of good sense should debase himself so. How- 
can you stand bein' indebted to such a pitiful 
way o' makin' a livin'?" 

"But what's to be done. Colonel?" said the 
gambler, who had learned from the other pas- 
sengers that he had been exposed by no less 
a personage that Colonel Davy Crockett, ex- 
congressman. 

"I'm in the slough of despond," he continued, 
"up to the very chin. A miry and slippery 
path to travel." 

"Then hold your head up, before the slough 
reaches your lips." 

"But what's the use?" answered the other. 
"It's utterly impossible for me to wade 
through; and even if I could, I should be in 
such dirty phght, that it would defy all the 
waters in the Mississippi to wash me clean 
again. No," he added, despairingly, "I should 
be like a live eel in a frying pan. Colonel, sort 
of out of my element, if I attempted to live 
like an honest man at this time of day." 

"It's never too late to become honest," re- 
turned Davy warmly. "But even admit what 



DAVID CROCKETT 143 

you say to be true — that you cannot live like 
an honest man^ — you have at least the next best 
thing in your power, and no one can say nay 
to it." 

"And what is that?" 

"Die like a brave one. Most men are re- 
membered as they died, and not as they lived." 

"You are right ; but how is this to be done?" 

"Come with me to Texas; cut aloof from 
your degrading habits and associates, and in 
fighting for freedom, regain your own." 

The gambler was deeply moved. Putting 
his thimbles with which he had been playing 
into his pocket, he rose and walked up and 
down for a few minutes. Then he turned, his 
eyes full of a new fire, and seized Davy's hand. 

"By heaven, I will try to be a man again! 
I will live honestly, or die bravely. I will go 
with you to Texas." 

"Good for you, Thimblerig!" cried Davy, 
shaking his hand with hearty vigor. 

A few days later the little steamer arrived 
at Natchitoches, and Davy and his new friend 
set about getting a couple of the tough little 
Mexican mustangs which were captured wild 
on the plains of Texas and sold very cheaply. 



144 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

"These lowlands are said to produce forty 
bushels of frogs to the acre, every year," ob- 
served Thimblerig, as they walked along the 
river. 

"There does seem to be plenty of 'em," an- 
swered Da\y, endeavoring to keep from step- 
ping upon them, as they hopped in all 
directions. Just then a clear and musical voice 
was raised in song, and looking toward the 
sound, the two travelers saw a graceful young 
man of about twenty-two, in a fringed hunt- 
ing shirt, and carrying a rifle in his hand. 
Across his shoulders was slung a hunting 
pouch, and his face was burnt so darkly that 
he looked very much like an Indian. 

"Howdy, Colonel Crockett," he called 
cheerfully as he drew near. 

Davy was sure he had never seen him before. 

"Howdy," he returned. "Looks like a close 
shootin' rifle you've got there." 

"It is," replied the stranger, "and I know 
you're wondering who I might be. I've come 
all of ten days' journey to meet you here, for 
I'm going with you to Texas. I've heard 
you're half horse, half alligator, and a little 
touched with snapping turtle, and can wade 



DAVID CROCKETT 145 

the Mississippi, leap the Ohio, ride a streak of 
lightning, and slide down a honey locust and 
not get scratched, so I figured I'd like to see 
you when your dander was up." 

Davy burst into a loud laugh. "I'm that 
same Davy Crockett you've heard of," he 
cried, "and I'm right glad to meet you ! Thim- 
blerig here and I are goin' to start after the 
Mexican dogs as soon as we get horses." 

Next day the three started for Nacogdoches, 
in Texas. The strange young man had by this 
time explained that he was a bee-hunter, a 
calling which was not unusual in that part of 
the country. The prairies were covered with 
flowers, and great swarms of bees were con- 
stantly at work, storing honey in the hollow 
trees of the forest. Both the honey and the 
wax could be sold to the Mexicans, who formed 
most of the population of Texas. The bee- 
hunter, of course, knew all the trails and paths 
by which it was possible to travel, so his addi- 
tion to the party was considered most happy. 



XIII 

ADVENTURE A PLENTY 

The route lay along a rough trail that fre- 
quently lost itself on the prairie, or was to be 
followed only by means of blazed trees. When 
they reached Nacogdoches, they stopped to 
procure fresh horses, for they had already trav- 
eled a hundred and twenty miles into Texas, 
and there were still two hundred miles ahead 
of them, before they should arrive at San An- 
tonio, in the very heart of Texas, where the 
main body of Texans was located. Great 
news awaited the newcomers. 

"The Alamo has been surrendered. Looks 
like an easy road to freedom, eh?" said one of 
the inhabitants to Davy. 

The Alamo was on the San Antonio River, 
just outside of the town of San Antonio. It 
was a Mexican fortress, and had recently been 
garrisoned by several hundred Mexican sol- 
diers, ignorant natives who insulted the col- 

146 



DAVID CROCKETT 147 

onists who had come into this frontier land 
from Kentucky and Tennessee. Hatred be- 
tween the men from the States and the Mexi- 
cans who claimed the soil had continued to 
grow over many years. 

"Who captured the Alamo?" inquired Davy. 
Like all the men of the Southwest, he reahzed 
that it was only a question of time until Texas 
should come under American rule, but he 
knew, too, that considerable fighting would 
have to come before that happened. The 
Alamo had always been the center of fierce 
strife. 

"General Burleson," replied the stranger, 
to Davy's question. "He led a handful of 
Texans against the Alamo and captured both 
the fortress and the town, San Antonio." 

This news was the signal for much rejoicing 
among the three comrades, and they resolved 
to push on to the scene of victory early the 
next morning. They put up at the only inn the 
village afforded and were up almost with the 
sun. Standing before the door, with his head 
uncovered, Davy made a little speech : 

"I will die, if I must, with my *Betsey' in my 
arms," he said. "No. I will not die! I'll 



148 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

grin down the walls of the Alamo, and we'll 
lick up the Mexicans like fine salt." 

With these words ringing on the morning 
air, the three men leaped to the backs of their 
little ponies, and set out for the forest, their 
long legs almost touching the ground as they 
bestrode the stocky little beasts. The way led 
through vast canebrakes, where the slender 
reeds were thirty feet high, and bowed together 
to form a canopy under which they rode. The 
trail was so narrow that only one horse at a 
time could pass, and the cane forests were 
swarming with game, so that Davy found it 
very hard to keep on his way. 

The second day out, a fierce storm came up 
just as they were preparing to rest for the 
night, and the bee-hunter urged them to stop 
at the cabin of a poor white woman whom he 
knew in the neighborhood. She made them 
welcome, though her means of entertainment 
were scanty, and the three were outside secur- 
ing their horses for the night when Davy heard 
the sound of someone approaching. 

"Who's there?" he cried into the darkness, 
reaching for his rifle, which stood against the 
cabin wall. 



DAVID CROCKETT 149 

"Two rangers bound for the front," drawled 
a voice with a merry lilt to it. They wore 
hunting knives, and in the light from the cabin 
door he perceived that one of them was an 
Indian, clad in deerskin, and that the other 
wore a sailor's round jacket and tarpaulin hat. 
But it was his face which riveted Davy's at- 
tention. It was heavily bewhiskered, so that 
very little showed except his nose and his eyes, 
and across his forehead there was a deep scar, 
apparently from a sword-cut. A similar scar 
was on the back of one of his hands, and alto- 
gether he was the most sinister-looking crea- 
ture that Davy had ever seen. 

"So you're bound for the front?" inquired 
the bee-hunter. "We're headed that way our- 
selves, and we'll be glad enough of an addition 
to our party." 

"Suits me," returned the sailor, "here. Jack, 
we'll invite the folks to supper," and he seized 
the bag which the Indian carried and turning 
it upside down, produced a brace of rabbits. 
This was a welcome sight to Davy's hungry- 
eyed party, and soon supper was prepared, 
consisting of fried bacon and rabbit, with 
onions. \ 



150 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

'^Old Whiskers has been a pirate, I reckon," 
the bee-hunter whispered to Davy while prep- 
arations were going on, and Davy was quite 
ready to beheve it. 

"Somehow, I don't relish sitting down to a 
meal with that party," observed Thimblerig, 
in an undertone, indicating the alleged pirate 
with his thumb. But he miscalculated the 
pirate's hearing abihty. That terrifying look- 
ing individual drew his long hunting knife from 
its sheath, and laying it beside his plate, re- 
marked gently: 

"Stranger, I think you had better take a seat 
and have some supper." 

Thimblerig glanced at the knife, and then at 
the pirate's impassive and partly hidden coun- 
tenance, and quietly seated himself at the table. 

Next morning the whole party set out, the 
two strangers going afoot. The prairie was 
almost treeless, and was abloom with flowers. 
During the early hours the men shot a couple 
of turkeys, and by noon the three horsemen, 
who had already left the pedestrians behind, 
were ready for a good meal. With a hot fire 
blazing before them, they were all seated on 
the grass while their turkeys broiled, when 



DAVID CROCKETT 15t 

they were startled to see the bee-hunter gaze 
intently upward, apparently at nothing. 

"What is it?" cried Davy. 

Without a word, the bee-hunter sprang to his 
feet and ran off at top speed, steering a zig- 
zag course across the prairie. 

"Must be a bee," observed Thimblerig. 
"These bee-hunters get mighty skillful in chas- 
ing 'em to their hives." 

The little party around the fire watched until 
the running figure grew small as a rabbit in the 
distance, and finally faded from sight. Then 
they turned their attention to their dinner, and 
soon made a meal that as Thimblerig said, was 
"worthy of bigger men." 

"Hark," said Davy, suddenly. "Is that 
thunder?" 

There was indeed a distant rumbling on the 
air, but it was continuous, and the sky was 
cloudless. The camp fire had been built on the 
top of a httle rise on the prairie, for they were 
in a rolling country and not on the open plain. 
Soon a huge black cloud became visible in the 
distance, very close to the ground, and sweep- 
ing onward with tremendous speed. Even as 
they first saw it, the men began to perceive 



152 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

that a cloud of dust accompanied the blacker 
cloud, and the rumbling became louder with 
every second that passed. 

"What can that all mean?" cried Davy. 

"Burn my old shoes if I know," replied 
Thimblerig, jumping to his feet. 

"Look at the horses scared plumb to death," 
said Davy, and sure enough, the tough little 
mustangs were shivering as though with a chill. 
Davy and Thimblerig rushed to their aid, and 
striking off their hobbles, brought them up 
into the little grove at the top of their emi- 
nence. Now the black cloud was almost upon 
them. 

"Buffaloes!" shouted Davy, who had never 
seen a whole herd in all his life. There were 
hundreds of them, which had been stampeded 
by something probably miles away, and now 
they were rushing headlong, blindly following 
their leader, and rending the air with their 
bellowing. 

Davy's heart stood still for a second. He 
saw that the buffaloes were not to be stopped 
in their wild flight. 

"Not while they've got a leader, anyways," 
he thought. "I've heard that somewhere," and 



DAVID CROCKETT 153 

he raised his rifle and aimed at the great black 
bull who was a few feet ahead of the rest. 

Crack ! A spurt of flame and smoke, a roar 
from the bull, and in a second he had swerved 
sharply around the foot of the little hill on 
which the men were standing, and darted off, 
wounded and roaring, with the whole herd 
Plundering behind him. 

For a moment Davy was astonished at the 
result of his stratagem. Then he hastily re- 
loaded, and leaping to his horse's back, he gave 
chase over the uplands of the prairie. 

At the end of an hour Davy found that spur 
him as he would, he could not make his horse 
gain upon the buffaloes, and he decided to re- 
turn to his friends. Disdaining to follow the 
buffalo tracks back over the way he had come, 
he turned his mustang to the west and pro- 
ceeded at a steady trot for an hour longer. 
Then he discovered that he was lost. 

"Poor Thimblerigl" he muttered, " he won't 
know how to take care of himself at all." 

Disturbed by this thought, he continued to 
ride on, until his attention was attracted by a 
herd of a hundred wild horses, grazing on the 
prairie. Rousing the racing instinct of his own 



154 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

animal, only recently captured from its wild 
mates, Davy led oflf in a long chase that only 
ceased when the last of the herd disappeared 
on the horizon. Then, observing that his mus- 
tang was about to drop, apparently from ex- 
haustion, he slipped to the ground, and allowed 
the poor creature to roll at ease on the grass. 

Night was now approaching, and Davy cast 
around for a place to spend the night. There 
was a large tree, blown down by the side of a 
stream, and its top branches were closely en- 
twined. 

"That might make a good, snug little nest 
for me," he thought, working his way along 
the tree trunk to the top. A low growl brought 
him to a halt. 

"That means, 'Stranger, these apartments 
are already taken,' I reckon," said Davy aloud. 
In a flash he had his rifle leveled on a pair of 
brilliant eyes that pierced the gloom. The re- 
port of the gun was followed by a low growl, 
and Davy was dismayed to find that his shot 
had glanced off the forehead of an immense 
panther. Davy began a judicious retreat, but 
the panther, doubly enraged at the rifle shot, 
sprang through the air like a whirlwind before 



DAVID CROCKETT 155 

Davy had gone back three steps. Davy struck 
out with the barrel of his rifle, but the panther 
cared nothing for that, and wheehng around, 
sprang again. Now Davy had his hunting 
knife in his hand, having thrown his useless 
gun away, and as the panther seized on his 
left arm, he buried the knife in its side, just as 
the animal sank his fangs into the flesh of his 
arm. The panther loosed his hold for an in- 
stant, then, smarting with his wounds, he 
pressed onto Davy again. Davy's attempt to 
blind him with the knife resulted in merely 
scratching the panther's nose, and served to 
increase his fury. He shook his head, growled, 
and, showing his teeth, sprang again, just as 
Davy's foot caught in a vine, and he sprawled 
on the ground. Instantly the panther was on 
his fallen foe; he seized Davy's right thigh in 
his teeth, and seemed to care little for the 
knife, pressing into his ribs, or for Davy's 
twisting his tail as hard as he could, with his 
left hand. 

"My leg's a goner," thought he, strug- 
gling to hurl the animal down the bank into 
the stream, for their scuffling had brought them 
to the edge of the bank. He stuck his knife 



156 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

as deeply as he could into the creature's side, 
and summoned all his strength to throw him 
over. But the panther sensed his intention and 
resisted fiercely, all the while tearing at his 
leg. At last the fight had been pushed so close 
to the edge that the panther lost his balance, 
and rolled over and over down the bank. In 
the fall, he dragged Davy with him, but for- 
tunately the latter fell on top, with the pan- 
ther's neck a fair mark for his knife. Without 
waiting to draw a breath, he aimed one des- 
perate blow at the animal's neck, and as the 
knife sank deep, the great creature struggled 
for a minute or two and then died. 

Davy was exhausted from the fight and 
his injuries, but he crawled back to the tree- 
top, possession of which had cost him so dearly, 
and soon he had fashioned a snug nest for him- 
self among the branches, with the dry moss 
which had festooned the boughs of the tree for 
softness, and his horse blanket wrapped 
around him for warmth. 

The sun was high in the heavens when he 
awakened, stiif and sore from his wounds, and 
hungry as he had a right to be. He peered 
over the bank and saw the panther lying dead. 



DAVID CROCKETT 157 

and felt a thrill of gratitude that he had con- 
quered the beast, instead of being conquered 
himself. Then he began to look about for his 
pony, but to his surprise it was nowhere to be 
found. 

"The consarned critter's disappeared with- 
out leaving trace of hair or hide," he muttered 
after an extended search, and he set out to get 
his breakfast. Soon his eyes were gladdened 
by the sight of a flock of wild geese, on the 
bank of the httle river, and he shot a fine fat 
gander, stripped him of his feathers, built a fire 
and had his prize roasting in the least time pos- 
sible. He had brought along a little tin cup, 
and a package of ground coffee, in the small 
pack which he had fortunately removed from 
his horse before he had turned it loose for the 
night, and with these aids, he was soon making 
a hearty breakfast. 

His meal over, Davy began to follow the 
stream. 

"Maybe it'll lead me to a trail," he thought, 
mentally consigning his runaway pony to an 
unhappy end. 

"Now what?" he added, a moment later, as 
the sound of horses' hoofs came faintly, but in 



158 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

great numbers, over the plain. He was not 
long in doubt. Off on the horizon he perceived 
a band of mounted Indians, and as they drew 
nearer he saw that they were painted and 
decked with plimies, and all riding at top speed, 
with their spears glittering in the sunhght, and 
their long hair streaming to the wind as they 
rode. 

Da^y stood still on the bank of the stream. 
He was more astounded than frightened, for 
he had never seen such an array of Indians. 
The Comanches were splendid horsemen, and 
when mounted, they controlled their steeds so 
perfectly that it was hard to distinguish be- 
tween animal and man. 

The whole band swept up like a whirlwind, 
and dividing into two semicircles, had sur- 
rounded Davy before he quite knew what they 
intended to do. Instinctively he grasped his 
rifle, then realizing that he could not resist he 
lowered it, while the chief springing from his 
horse advanced to meet him. 

"He's got his eye on my rifle," Davy 
thought, observing the direction of his eyes, 
and at once a plan to save it from confiscation 
leaped into his mind. The Comanches, though 



DAVID CROCKETT 159 

warlike, had been friendly with the white men, 
and had mingled with them freely. 

"Is your nation at war with the Americans?" 
asked Davy. 

"No," said the chief, "they are our friends." 

"Where," said Davy, "do you get your 
spear-heads, your blankets and your knives?" 

"From our friends the white men." 

"Well," said Davy, "do you think that if you 
were passing through their country, as I am 
passing through yours, they would rob you 
of your property?" 

"No," replied the chief, "they would feed 
and protect me. And the Comanche will do 
the same by his white brother." 

Davy drew a breath of relief. He was not 
to be forced into an unequal struggle to re- 
tain his beautiful rifle. 

Meanwhile, a couple of warriors had discov- 
ered the dead panther, and now came up, chat- 
tering in Spanish. From their gestures Davy 
knew they were talking about the many knife 
wounds the animal bore, and he hastened to 
give an account of the fight the night before, 
brandishing his hunting-knife, leveling his 
rifle, and showing the lacerations in his own 



160 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

flesh to make the Indians understand what 
had happened. The chief was surprised and 
dehghted. 

"Brave hunter, brave man!" he cried 
repeatedly. "Brave hunter — be Indian's 
brother." 

Davy at first did not understand what was 
meant, but finally the chief made it clear that 
he was inviting him to become a son of the 
tribe, an honor which Davy politely refused. 
He explained the circumstances which led to 
his present situation in the desert, and the chief 
chuckled when Davy explained that he had 
thought his horse so exhausted that he prob- 
ably would not last through the night, and he 
had not thought it necessary to hobble him. 
The mustang, the Indian explained, is a wily 
animal, and doubtless Davy's horse had been 
shamming fatigue and had seized the first 
opportunity to run wild. 

Despite his disappointment at Davy's re- 
fusal to join the tribe, the chief offered to 
escort him as far as the Colorado River, and 
providing him with a fresh horse, the whole 
party set oflf across the prairie with Davy in 
their midst. 



DAVID CROCKETT 161 

The Colorado was reached on the second 
day, and they followed the course of the stream, 
looking for the place where the San Antonio 
trail crossed. As they rode along, they saw 
in the distance a thin spiral of smoke showing 
above the trees, and as they drew near they 
spread out in a circle and with loud whoops 
closed in on the spot from which the smoke was 
ascending. Davy, who was riding beside the 
chief, was astonished to see his old friend the 
gambler, sitting by his solitary fire, engaged 
in playing with his thimbles, on the crown of 
his hat. When he looked up, at the first yell, 
he staggered to his feet, trembling from head 
to foot, and too terrified to speak a word. 
Davy rode forward, and jimiping to the 
ground, seized him by the hand. 

"Thimblerig!" he shouted joyfully, "I was 
afraid you mustVe perished, all by yourself." 

Thimblerig gave a frightened glance at 
Davy's warlike escort. 

"It's all right," cried Davy. "The chief 
has been a good friend to me," and he described 
how he had been rescued from the depths of 
the prairie, where he was wandering, without 
a horse, and stiff from the panther wounds. 



162 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

The spot where the gambler had been found 
was close to the San Antonio trail, so, as Davy- 
no longer needed a guide, the Comanches said 
farewell, and with Davy's words of gratitude 
ringing in their ears, they wheeled and rode 
away over the plain. 

Shortly afterward, the bee-hunter returned 
with a plump turkey, and the reunited friends 
were joyously cooking their supper when they 
heard the neighing of a horse. 

"The Comanches!" exclaimed Thimblerig, 
who had not gotten entirely over his scare. 

"No," said Davy, who had keen eyesight. 
"It's the pirate and his Indian." 

Sure enough, the two rode up in another mo- 
ment, and seeing their former companions, 
they offered to join them for the rest of the 
way. 

Next morning the five crossed the river, and 
pushed on rapidly toward the Alamo. They 
were within twenty miles of San Antonio when 
they observed a party of fifteen armed horse- 
men, riding furiously toward them. 

"These fellows are goin' to have something 
to say," said Davy, "or I reckon they wouldn't 
be ridin' at such top speed. We're kind of out- 



DAVID CROCKETT 163 

numbered, and it looks as if we'll have to fix 
up some fortifications." 

He led the example, by slipping from his 
horse, and using the animal as a rampart. The 
others followed, just as the Mexicans reined in 
their steeds. 

''Surrender!" cried the leader, in Spanish. 

"They're ordering us to surrender," ex- 
plained the pirate, who knew Spanish. "We'll 
have to have a brush with those blackguards. 
Let each one single out his man for the first 
fire. They are greater fools than I take them 
for, if they give us a chance for a second shot. 
Colonel, just settle the business with that talk- 
ing fellow with the red feather. He's worth 
any three of the party." 

"Surrender, or we fire!" repeated the leader, 
in his native tongue. 

"Fire away!" shouted the pirate, also in 
Spanish. 

Next moment there was a terrific report, as 
the fifteen horsemen fired simultaneously, and 
before the smoke had cleared away the five 
travelers, behind their horses, had each selected 
his man and fired. The ranks of the fifteen 
scattered like straw before the wind, and leap- 



164 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

ing to their horses, the fighting men pursued 
them as they disappeared in a cloud of dust. 
Several of the mustangs were to be seen run- 
ning wild, and Davy was sure that some of 
their bullets had taken effect. The chase was 
hot abandoned until the battlements of the 
Alamo were in sight, flying an immense flag of 
thirteen stripes, with a large white star of five 
points, surrounded by the letters "Texas" — 
the independent flag which the Texan rangers 
had unfurled after they succeeded in driv- 
ing the Mexicans from the fort. 

As Da\y and his companions rode up to the 
gates, they were challenged by the sentinel. 

"I'm that same Davy Crockett," explained 
the colonel, "come to give the Texans a help- 
in' hand on the high road to freedom." 

Instantly the gates swung open, while the 
news flew like wildfire from man to man within 
the fortress. 

"Three cheers for Davy Crockett! Three 
cheers for Crockett and his scouts!" cried the 
determined rangers, and Davy's heart warmed 
to hear them. 



XIV 

THE CONQUEST OF THE ALAMO 

"Somethin's stirrin', boys," observed Davy 
Crockett, who, with a dozen of the rough rid- 
ers from the Alamo, were watching from a 
nearby hill for signs of approaching Mexicans. 
It was Washington's birthday, in 1836, sev- 
eral weeks after Davy's triumphant entry into 
the Texan stronghold, and the intervening 
days had been passed in anxious waiting for 
an attack by Santa Anna, leader of the Mexi- 
cans, and his men. 

"That's a mighty swift moving cloud of 
dust," agreed the bee-hunter, who was one of 
the party. "I wouldn't be surprised — yes, 
there they are — " he broke off excitedly as 
the flash of bayonets, gleaming in the morning 
sunlight, suddenly burst through the rolling 
dust-cloud that had been moving among the 
hills. At the same time faint, but bold bugle 
notes were wafted to the straining ears of the 
watchers. 

"They're not more than twenty miles away," 

165 



166 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

cried Davy, whirling his horse around and 
using his heel on the animal's ribs. Instantly 
the others were after him, and they tore along 
the trail to the fortress at top speed. 

"The Mexicans are coming, the Mexicans 
are coming!'' they cried, as they dashed 
through the gates. Colonel Travis, who com- 
manded the Texan forces, and Colonel Bowie, 
after whom the famous bowie knife was named, 
were at the gates to receive the tidings. 

"It's war — and no quarter," said Travis. 
"No use trying to hold on to the town, we'll 
be overwhelmed with numbers. But we'll de- 
fend the Alamo to the last extremity." 

"Liberty — or death!" shouted Davy's little 
band of scouts, waving their hats in the air. 

Immediately orders were issued for the de- 
fenders of the fortress to gather within its 
gates, and hastily the Texans and their sym- 
pathizers quitted the town. Altogether there 
were not more than two hundred, including 
a few women and children, who filed into the 
Alamo, determined to withstand the whole 
Mexican army. 

"You still have time to escape," Travis told 
them, as they gathered together in a Uttle 



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JAMES BOWIE 

Famous pioneer fighter; one of the defenders 

of the Alamo 



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DAVID CROCKETT 167 

knot, just ivithin the gates. "Now is your 
chance, boys. Who will stand by me to the 
last?" 

One man only turned away; the others stood 
firm, with lifted heads and eyes flashing cour- 
age, and the colonel knew that he could rely 
upon his little garrison to the very end. The 
gates were barred, the surplus supplies of food 
and ammunition which had been carried to the 
fortress a few days before were looked over, 
and then the flag of Texas was raised to the 
battlements. As the white star in its blue field 
gleamed out from the thirteen stripes, red and 
white, the whole company stood with bared 
heads and tingling blood while the bee-hunter 
sang a song of his own composition — a tribute 
to Texas and her defenders : 

"Up with your banner, Freedom, 

Thy champions cling to thee; 
They'll follow where'er you lead them. 

To death, or victory!" 

Three cheers by the whole garrison followed, 

and drums and trumpets joined in to carry 

their note of defiance to the approaching foe. 

Meanwhile, the Mexicans, the hosts of Santa 



168 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

Anna, had drawn near, and now, with eagle- 
topped banners flying and drums rolling, they 
entered the town of San Antonio, sixteen hun- 
dred strong, infantry, artillery and cavalry. 
At once a blood-red banner was raised over the 
town, and the Texans, undaunted though they 
were, knew in their hearts that their peril was 
very great. Soon a demand came to Colonel 
Travis. 

"Surrender," it read, "without condition, or 
we will put every man to the sword.'* 

For reply, the gallant colonel sent a can- 
non-shot into the town. War was on in ear- 
nest — and there was but little food and ammu- 
nition at the Alamo. The firing began that 
very afternoon, but the Texans kept under 
cover and no damage was done. At night 
Colonel Travis sent an appeal for aid to Col- 
onel Fannin, who was beheved to be in camp 
about a hundred miles away. The old pirate 
volunteered to go on this journey, and Davy 
and his friends watched him slip away into the 
darkness with mingled feelings. 

"I was never one to sit around waitin'," ob- 
served Davy wistfully. "I'd like to be out 
there, a-dodgin' the Mexican serpents. But 



DAVID CROCKETT 169 

I'm needed right here — I know that/' and he 
sought his quarters for the night. 

Early next morning the fort was awakened 
by the noise of a new battery, stationed on the 
river bank not more than three hundred and 
fifty yards from the wall. The cannon roared 
all day, breaking a piece off the parapet, here 
and there, more often burying the deadly shot 
safely within the thick adobe walls. The Tex- 
ans had fourteen cannon distributed at various 
points around the fort, but it was believed that 
the rifles could be used to greater advantage, 
and with less waste of powder, as well as with 
less danger to the men, from the wild shots 
sent by the Mexicans from behind every pro- 
tecting tree and shrub. So all day long the 
long American rifles cracked, and the Mexi- 
can cannon boomed — but it was the riflemen 
who found their mark. 

*'Seems to me them greasers are wastin* a 
lot o' good ammunition," drawled Davy, stroll- 
ing over to Thimblerig, who was engaged in 
his game of thimbles. 

"They sure are," returned Thimblerig. "I'm 
thinkin' o' doin' a little work myself, in a min- 



170 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

ute. I've just been restin' my muscles a bit 
with a little diversion." 

"I laid off for ten minutes or so," said Davy. 
"I hate like p'isen to let any of that black- 
hearted gang get away, but I was gettin* 
cramped." 

Thimblerig's reply was a groan. A three- 
ounce ball had glanced from the parapet and 
struck him on the breast. Davy tore open his 
shirt and rapidly ran his fingers over the 
wound. 

"You're not dead yet, by a long shot," he 
told his friend, "but I reckon it hurts some, 
eh? Hold still a minute." 

Whipping out his long hunting knife, Davy 
proceeded to do a bit of surgery. His work 
was far from painless, but highly effective. 
A moment later the leaden ball lay in Thimb- 
lerig's hand. 

"Drill a hole through it, and carry it for a 
watch seal," recommended Davy, cheerfully. 

"No!" responded Thimblerig, wrathfully. 
"May I be shot six times if I do. That would 
be makin' a bauble for an idle boast. No, 
Colonel, lead is gettin' scarce, and I'll lend it 
out at compound interest." 



DAVID CROCKETT 171 

Next morning Davy was awakened before 
daylight by the sound of a rifle occasionally 
popping over the place where he was sleeping. 
Through the gloom he could just make out the 
figure of Thimblerig, mounted alone on the 
battlement. 

"What are you doin' there?" shouted Davy, 
amazed at this early activity. 

**Payin' my debts," returned Thimblerig 
calmly, "interest and all." 

"And how do you make that out?" 

"IVc nearly got through; stop a minute, 
Colonel, and I'll close the account," and the 
marksman clapped his rifle to his shoulder and 
blazed away into the gloom. Next moment he 
had jumped down from the wall. 

"That account's settled," he remarked with 
satisfaction. "Them chaps will let me play 
out my game in quiet next time. Look over 
the wall. Colonel, and you'll see how; I've been 
payin' my debts." 

Davy climbed up, and gazed over the battle- 
ments, and discovered four Mexicans lying 
dead on the plain outside. 

"That's how I paid my debts," explained 
Thimblerig. "I run that grape-shot they sent 



172 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

me into four rifle balls, and I was up bright 
and early so's to get a chance to pick off the 
stragglers." 

"I reckon you gave 'em more than you owed 
'em for that shot in the chest," Davy chuckled 
as the two went off in search of something to 
eat. 

"You're a good shot, Thimblerig," remarked 
Davy on the way, "but that bee-hunter is about 
the quickest on the trigger, and the best rifle 
shot we have in the fort." 

"Barrin' yourself, Colonel," answered the 
other. 

"Why, I've seen him bring down eleven of 
the enemy," Davy went on, "and at such a dis- 
tance that we all thought it would be a waste 
of ammunition to attempt it." 

Day by day the shooting went on ; the Mexi- 
cans fell steadily under the well-aimed fire 
from the Alamo, and their return shots took 
no toll from the besieged. But food was grow- 
ing scarce, and escape from the garrison was 
out of the question. The Texans waited hope- 
fully for relief from Colonel Fannin, but 
it failed to come. Davy, who was keeping a 
diary of events, wrote one day: 



DAVID CROCKETT 173 

"Last night our hunters brought in some 
corn, and had a brush with a scout from the 
enemy beyond gunshot of the fort. They put 
the scout to flight, and got in without injury. 
They bring accounts that the settlers are flying 
in all quarters in dismay, leaving their posses- 
sions to the mercy of the ruthless invader, who 
is literally engaged in a war of extermination 
more brutal than the untutored savage of the 
desert could be guilty of. Slaughter is indis- 
criminate, sparing neither age, sex nor condi- 
tion. Buildings have been burnt down, farms 
laid waste, and Santa Anna appears deter- 
mined to verify his threat, and convert the 
blooming paradise into a howling wilderness. 
For just one fair crack at that rascal, even at 
a hundred yards' distance, I would bargain to 
break my 'Betsey,' and never pull trigger 
again. My name's not Crockett if I wouldn't 
get glory enough to appease my stomach for 
the remainder of my life." 

February waned and March blew in — still 
the Texans, entrenched in their stronghold, 
continued to pick off the enemy. Three hun- 
dred were killed in one week. But new men 
arrived to take their places, and it was evident 



174 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

that Santa Anna had enough material at his 
disposal to wear out a much larger American 
garrison. Meanwhile, Colonel Bowie had fal- 
len ill of typhoid fever and was lying helpless 
in his bed. 

Yet while starvation stalked them grimly 
and sickness hovered in its wake, the little band 
of patriots turned in, night after night, always 
hopeful that the morrow would see help ad- 
vancing to the Alamo, and when morning 
dawned and the daily round of shot and shell 
began again, they fought painstakingly, guard- 
ing themselves, making every ball tell. 

"Had a little sport this morning," remarked 
Davy one morning at breakfast. "The enemy 
got a piece of ordnance planted within gun- 
shot o' the fort last night, and the first thing 
this mornin' they commenced a brisk cannon- 
ade, point-blank against the spot where I was 
snorin'. I turned out pretty smart, and 
mounted the rampart. The gun was charged 
again, and a fellow stepped out to touch her 
off, but before he could use the match I let 
him have it, and he kneeled over. A second 
stepped up, snatched the match from the hand 
of the dyin' man, but Thimblerig here handed 



DAVID CROCKETT 175 

me his rifle and the next instant the second 
Mexican was stretched beside the first. A 
third came up to the cannon, and Thimberhg 
handed me another gun, so I fixed him off in 
like manner. A fourth, and then a fifth 
seized the match, and I used 'em both the same 
way, and then the whole party gave it up as 
a bad job, and rushed off to the camp, leavin' 
the cannon ready charged where they had 
planted it. Then I came down to eat." 

*'That place where you were firin' is one o* 
the snuggest stands in the whole fort," de- 
clared Thimblerig. *'I never fail to pick off 
two or three stragglers before breakfast, when 
I'm perched up there." 

*'Yes, I've seen you up there mighty reg- 
ular," returned Davy, as they reached for their 
rifles and started back to their posts. 

All day they aimed with care, and their 
rifles blazed defiantly whenever a Mexican 
showed himself from behind a tree or a fence. 
At sunset Davy stood at an angle of the para- 
pet; the cannon, after a day of spluttering, 
were silent, and the plain lay peacefully await- 
ing the dusk. Suddenly there was the sound 
of horses' hoofs, and Davy strained his eyes 



176 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

in the direction of a man running desperately, 
followed at a little distance by a dozen of the 
Mexican cavalry. 

"The pirate!" he cried, pointing with his 
gun. Thimblerig, the bee-hunter, and the In- 
dian hunter had recognized the running figure 
almost at the same time ; together they rushed 
to the gate of the stockade, threw it open, and 
ran to the aid of the old man. They could see 
that the Mexicans were pressing him close; 
then, to their surprise, he stopped suddenly, 
and raising his rifle, shot in the midst of 
his pursuers. One of the enemy fell from his 
horse. Turning, the pirate made again for 
the fort, but the others were on his heels, and 
evidently enraged, he suddenly clubbed his gun 
and rushed forward, striking right and left. 
The Mexicans were plainly astonished and fled 
like sparrows, just as the detachment of res- 
cuers came running up. They promptly gave 
chase to the fleeing enemy, too excited in the 
heat of the moment to be cautious ; another sec- 
ond, and their retreat was cut off by a second 
detachment of Mexican cavalry. Davy rose to 
the occasion. 



DAVID CROCKETT 177 

^'Nothing is to be done but to fight our way 
through!" he cried. "Go ahead!" 

"Go ahead. Colonel!" shouted his compan- 
ions in unison, and they dashed against the 
horsemen. It was a bloody conflict. There 
were about twenty Mexicans, who held their 
ground for Bve minutes ; then a rescuing band 
was seen emerging from the gate of the fort 
and the Mexicans wheeled around and fled. 
Eight of their comrades lay dead upon the 
field, but their deaths were not cheaply 
bought. The pirate and the bee-hunter were 
both mortally wounded, and Davy had re- 
ceived a saber cut on his forehead. 

The little band was helped within the fortress 
gates, where the old pirate breathed his last 
without speaking a word. The bee-hunter died 
at midnight. 

The next day was the fifth of March. No 
relief had come ; none was now expected. "In 
case the enemy should carry the fort, fight to 
the last gasp, and render their victory even 
more serious to them than to us," said Colonel 
Travis, in a last exhortation to his men. He 
was answered by three cheers. 



178 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

"Well, the long wait is nearly over," said 
Davy, that afternoon, to Thiniblerig. 

"What do you mean?" cried that spirited 
fighter. 

"Haven't you seen the proclamation?" de- 
manded Davy. "Someone over in the city has 
just sent a Comanche arrow into the fort, 
carrying a copy of the order issued by the Mex- 
ican general to attack us. Santa Anna will 
command the attack in person." 

Thimblerig smiled grimly. "Yes, it's nearly 
over, Davy," he said softly. Then the two 
men, like all the others in the garrison, went 
about the last tasks of seeing that the stockades 
were safe, the cannon loaded, powder horns 
filled and bullets made ready. There was little 
talking; but the silence rang with the unspoken 
word — resistance. 

That night the Texans slept but little, and 
their sentries watched intently through all the 
hours of darkness. It was still moonlight, and 
not yet three o'clock in the morning, when the 
word came that the Mexican camp was astir. 
The Americans, waiting, listening, heard the 
tramp of many horses' feet; then they saw the 
gleam of bristling bayonets. The enemy was 



DAVID CROCKETT 179 

drawn up before the fort, and only awaited the 
signal to attack. 

Morning dawned; Sunday morning, March 
6, 1836, glorious with the promise of spring. 
Davy took his place upon the wall, and looked 
to his powder and his bullets. Every other 
American did the same. And as they looked 
they heard the note of the bugle that was to 
let loose the enemy upon them; heard the 
hoarse cries of commanding ofScers, and raised 
their rifles as the combined forces of Santa 
Anna, two thousand five hundred strong, 
swept across the plain, urged on by the fierce 
martial music of the army bands. 

Under the first fire of the defenders the 
Mexicans, advancing in three columns on the 
north, east and west, fell back. The rain of 
bullets and the hail of grape was too hot to be 
borne for a moment or two. Then reenforce- 
ments came up behind the men who first 
charged the fort, and then more came and 
more. Steadily those in front were pushed 
outward — outward, until at last they had 
reached the shelter of the Alamo walls. Here 
they had a little protection from the cannon 
above their heads, but they provided a splendid 



180 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

mark for the rifles. Already nearly three hun- 
dred had fallen, and the firing went on, seem- 
ingly without a pause. Never had men loaded 
and fired, loaded and fired, so swiftly, so 
accurately, so desperately. The assaulters 
tried to scale the walls; they were too high. 
Only on the north, the side of the stockade, 
where the walls were lower, was there a hope 
of climbing over. The ladders were brought. 
Still, the Texans fired on. Davy, bringing 
down a Mexican with ahnost every shot, heard 
a groan, and saw something fall from the 
nearby corner of the parapet. Here Colonel 
Travis had been commanding a cannon, above 
a small breach which had been made. Davy 
gave a quick glance below. Travis lay dead; 
there was no one to take his place; every man 
was doing his utmost. Another moment and 
the Mexicans swarmed over the wall. 

Now there was no longer time to load and 
fire. Swinging their rifles like clubs, the 
Americans fell back, fighting at every step, 
dropping, one by one, as the countless sword 
thrusts went home. The Mexicans pressed 
on, crowding them into the barracks. It was 
here that Colonel Bowie lay, too ill to rise from 



DAVID CROCKETT 181 

his bed. A throng of bloodthirsty Mexicans, 
hurtling into the room, were met by a blast 
from the colonel's rifle, then his pistol, as he 
lifted his feverish hands in a last eflfort. 
Daunted, the enemy paused at the door, and 
fired on the gallant American from that point 
of vantage. Then with a cry of triimiph they 
dashed in, to gloat over his body collapsed 
upon the bed. Bowie was dying but not dead. 
His weakened fingers touched the handle of 
his famous knife; the touch sent a sudden 
strength into his veins. With a final rush of 
fury he whipped the knife into the air and sank 
it into the breast of the Mexican who had 
reached him first, and fell back — dead. 

Meanwhile the remaining handful of Amer- 
icans were fighting with their backs to the 
walls, their hunting knives in their hands, aim- 
ing deadly blows even as they fell to the 
ground. Davy Crockett was one of the last 
alive. He stood in a corner of the fort, fighting 
like a wounded tiger. In one hand he grasped 
the remnants of his beloved "Betsey," and in 
the other his hunting knife, now red to the hilt. 
At his feet lay a pile of Mexicans — twenty in 
number — some dead, some dying. Nearby lay 



182 FAMOUS AMERICANS 

also poor Thimblerig, his knife buried in the 
throat of a Mexican, whose hair he clutched in 
his left hand. He had fought beside Davy till 
a bullet had found his heart. 

But Davy's work was done. Blood was 
streaming from the great saber cut in his fore- 
head, and he was swaying from weakness, as a 
new force of Mexicans closed in upon him. He 
struck out; a rain of sword-cuts fell upon his 
tired body; he dropped in his tracks. The 
furious cowards mangled his face and limbs as 
he lay, but he did not care; his indomitable 
heart was still. On his brow was a frown, but 
his lips were curled in a smile of scorn. He 
had "gone ahead" all his hfe, he was irtill 
"going ahead," when his life ended. 

The rising sun saw the triumphant Mexican 
tri-color floating above the Alamo, but it saw, 
too, five hundred Mexicans dead within the 
fort, their bodies mingled with the one hundred 
and sixty-six Aiiiericans who had avenged 
themselves manyfold as they fell. 



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